


An Ever-Fixed Mark

by Violet_Jones



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Actor Ian, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ian & Karen friendship, Ian & Mandy friendship, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shameless Reverse Bang, because I'm a total nerd, escort Mandy, ex-con Mickey, titles taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet 116
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9483170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: A 'vision in grayscale until you kiss your soulmate' AU. Ian is an actor whose star is rapidly rising, and Mickey is a reformed con-man trying to pull his sister, Mandy, out of the escort business. Their lives all change the night Ian and Mickey meet and discover the depth of their bond.UPDATE - 06/25/18 -Temporarily on hold, but not abandoned!- TBC eventually, once the inspiration is back for the AU. (Much is already written for it!)





	1. Every Wandering Ship

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the Shameless Reverse Bang! Thank you to the organizer, Maggie!
> 
> Based on the art and prompt by [walkingarchways](http://walkingarchways.tumblr.com/). Thank you for the inspiration!
> 
> And if you wanna read the sonnet from the titles: [Sonnet 116](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/45106)
> 
> It's the first thing I thought of when I thought about the idea of soulmates.
> 
>   
>  [](http://i.imgur.com/R0qwdML.jpg?1)   
>    
> 

“Alright everybody, that’s a wrap on season four!” Tim, the showrunner announced loudly, echoing across the set.

The cast and crew all clapped and whooped, and the people gathered around started hugging one another. Ian was smiling widely amidst it all when Karen jumped onto his back in an impromptu piggyback ride, almost strangling him with her arms as she hoisted herself up. He flailed momentarily before grabbing onto the back of one of her thighs with his hand, while pulling her arms away with the other hand, so that they were looser around his neck.

“Fucking watch it, you’re gonna kill me with your sneak attacks one day,” he warned her over his shoulder.

It wasn’t like he needed to guess who it was. She was small and dainty, and had been his best friend for years now, so he could discern her by weight alone; not to mention that most other people on set wouldn’t just jump up on his back like it was no big deal, except maybe the kids, but they weren’t involved in the final scene they’d just shot.

Ian Gallagher had been a series regular on the television series, _The Manor,_ since episode one. He played Hugo Crane, and had remained a minor character for the first few seasons, occasionally getting his own story arcs, but without receiving a lot of screen-time in the grand scheme of the show. Then, at the end of season three, they had revealed him to be a serial killer, linking him back even deeper to the central mysteries of the main plotline. That had kicked off an expanded role for him starting in the just-wrapped season four, and his new contract with added air-time and a much bigger salary would remain active for the fifth season, with the possibility of a sixth also included should the network green-light it in the end. They were definitely coming back for one more season, but the ratings jury was still out, and they didn’t yet know if it would be the final one or not.

Ian was still playing a teenager, even though he was now 23 years old, soon to be 24, but it didn’t bother him. Given that he was on an over-the-top dramedy horror on FOX, he didn’t really have to worry about maintaining an image, or anything. He wasn’t expected to be a role model for young kids to look up to. He was just a wacko with a machete in the end. Plus, he got very little of the media spotlight when it came to the show, although interest in him was on an upswing now that he was getting more popular as an actor in general, not just on _The Manor_ , but also in film.

He’d been paying his dues with roles of varying sizes in smaller indie flicks, honing his craft and waiting for his big opportunity. The waiting had finally paid off late last year when he’d been cast in his breakout role, just released two months previous. The film was called _Echoes of the Rain_ , and he played a prominent supporting role that was even getting him minor awards buzz chatter. Regardless, at this point, Karen was much more famous than him, and he was mostly happy just being her sidekick when it came to all the public appearance crap. He was grateful not to have people trying to pry into his private life yet. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be into the idea of that, but he knew it had a great possibility of happening if he continued this career path, which he fully intended on doing.

Karen Jackson had been in the biz since she was a kid. . . one of those dreaded child actors that grew up learning the industry inside and out. She was a ruthless bitch when she wanted to be, and a perfect little angel when the situation warranted it. She definitely knew how to act. Ian had found her abrasive and slightly annoying when he’d first met her, but once she’d discovered that Ian was gay, she’d latched onto him and refused to let go until he became her main confidant, no longer feeling intimidated by her presence and attitude.

It’d been a big deal to him to finally have a close friend like that. Other than his brother, Lip, who was just barely a year older than him, he’d never really had many friends. Especially none that he’d just blurted out his sexuality to. Of course, Karen had been pretty persistently trying to get on his dick when he’d just gotten fed up to the point where he’d admitted it to her just to keep her at bay, but it was still a big step for him at the time.

Four years later, he had no qualms about the gay thing at all. He’d left any of the shame and fear that lingered about hiding it back in Chicago. L.A. Ian was out and proud, and fuck you if you had a problem with it. Still, no one in the press had ever specifically brought it up before. . . his personal life. He never really got those intimate questions, because he’d always been such a minor player. It was only the past few months, when he’d started doing press for his new movie, that he’d been asked his first, ‘Anybody special at home?’ type questions, and since he did not, in fact, have a significant other, he’d been able to stick to vague replies, like: ‘I’m always open to it, but you know just so much to focus on in my career right now,’ or ‘I like to have fun, but it’s just hard to maintain a relationship right now. It’ll come when it’s time.’

He never said _he_ , _she_ , _him_ , or _her_ in reference to any abstract, would-be romantic partners, so he wasn’t really lying about anything. He wasn’t playing a pronoun change game, he was just omitting by default, and really, what was the harm in that? None, right?

“Ian, stop guilting yourself about this shit! You’re not in the goddamn closet, alright? You’ll make a big splash when the time comes. You get laid all the time in West Hollywood, someone’s bound to start the rumor mill going at some point,” Karen would coach him to that effect when he had his momentary freak-outs about it. “It’s probably happening as we speak. I give it another year, tops, and you’ll be confirming it to the world.”

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with everyone knowing we haven’t actually been secretly banging all these years after all? They’ll probly say you were my beard.”

There had been an ongoing assumption that maybe Karen and Ian were more than just friends, because of how much Ian was spotted in Karen’s pap pics. Plus, they usually went to a lot of events together too. There’d been a brief period where Karen had a real boyfriend, but it was over in less than a year, so the heat hadn’t completely gone away. Still, she was the one that got all those questions, not him. It was more of a fan theory anyway, rather than something the media really believed or fed into.

“Fuck ‘em, like I give a shit! I get all the dick I need, and if I decide to settle down, it’s my choice. Everyone else can suck it.”

Still, Ian had reservations. If he ended up with a boyfriend, for example, he wouldn’t feel good about hiding them away like some dirty little secret. He’d have to own the relationship and present that hypothetical guy to the world, and that could be a very big deal. And if he went so far as to find his actual _soulmate_. . . he didn’t even want to think what that could mean, and the kind of attention it could bring.

There were so many interesting areas where The Connection, as it was called by most, could fuck your life up, wether it was as a result of finding your soulmate partner, or a kind of punishment for _not_ finding them.

For famous gay couples, it was a particularly big deal, because of how much they were needed to help normalize same-sex soulmate connections just with their visibility. There was a hugely bigoted segment of the population that still believed that true connections were only ever made between a man and a woman. Basically, there was a prominent hate group that thought all the same-sex soulmates around the globe were weaving some vast web of lies; that all their tales of finding true love together were complete falsehoods, forming part of a larger conspiracy that smarter people couldn’t even comprehend the reasons for ever possibly existing. It didn’t matter how stupidly illogical that line of thinking was, the world could still be a dangerous and unjust place, and half the country still seemed to openly loathe the other half.

So for the average famous LGBTQ person who had located their soulmate, it was a foregone conclusion that repping the community and battling the stigma would become your _cause célèbre,_ and you were expected to do so fearlessly and gleefully, never looking back.

Even though Ian was in a business where he was in the spotlight all the time, he still didn’t know if he could deal with becoming a person that meant enough to people in such a way that they would idealize him and expect things from him that he might not be capable of delivering. He didn’t know if he and whoever he ended up with would be able to live up to such high hopes and standards, under that kind of scrutiny and pressure.

Then again, maybe that would never happen; or it wouldn’t happen for a long time to come, and one day Ian would feel differently about it. He wasn’t sure exactly. All he knew was that for the time being, he wasn’t ready for all that. He was prepared to spend years without making The Connection and not even worry about finding love. He was young after all, and he liked sex. He’d even thought about just not kissing anyone anymore, just to be sure that some sort of accident didn’t happen, but in the end, his desire to leave no stone left unturned made him do it anyway. He’d be stupid to pass up any opportunities to just get it over with. And besides, there was that whole ‘Brand New World of Color’ thing to entice him, as well.

The film industry, and any creative field in general, was particularly hard on people who could still only see in grayscale. The older you got without ever seeing in color, the more likely you were to get tossed aside and squeezed out unless you were really giving it your above and beyond every step of the way. There were much higher stakes at risk when you fucked up.

This prejudice seemed to stem from a general consensus that color-inspired people tended to have more depth. For an actor, it was said that you could access fuller, deeper, more realistic emotions when you knew colors. There were also studies suggesting that the longer a person went seeing only in grayscale, the more prone they were to increasing bouts of depression, anxiety, and various other mood disorders and mental illnesses. Therefore, it was said that the range of human emotion in some could be stunted over time. Obviously, not a great sell for actors who were unlucky in love.

Ian couldn’t really wrap his mind around any of those concepts, since he had no way of experiencing true color. There were teams of scientists in all corners of the world trying to create a way to permit those who hadn’t found their match to see color anyway, with the use of special lenses, or serums, or any number of crazy contraptions. None had been successful thus far. He’d heard the most lengthy, flowery descriptions of various colorful objects or artworks over the years, but the mystery of color remained an unsolved puzzle to him, most likely to stay elusive up until The Moment, which is what most people called the instant when The Connection was made and the big change in your vision was said to erupt, painting everything around it in shades he couldn’t even imagine.

Truth be told, Ian was a little obsessed with the idea of discovering color and everything about it that made life better. This left him in an obvious conundrum, seeing as his fears of being a famous gay guy with a soulmate partner were completely at odds with his desire for more beauty in his life and the possibility of fulfilling his total artistic potential. He was going to get slammed with all of it at once, one day, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Ian let Karen piggyback all the way to his trailer before unceremoniously dumping her onto the built-in sofa beside the entryway, and beginning to disrobe so he could wash the fake blood splatter off of his face and upper body.

“What’re we doin’ tonight? Gay bar after the wrap party?” asked Karen, nonchalantly studying her nails.

Ian snorted. “If I do the gay bar after the wrap party, you’re _not_ coming with me.”

Ian only ever brought Karen out with him clubbing if he wasn’t interested in picking anyone up. She tended to accidentally chase away any ass he was trying to get on with her wild and untamed ways of using sexuality in even the most inappropriate situations, like say when you were surrounded mostly by dudes who had no interest in tits or vadge. They would go dancing sometimes, or out with a larger group, but Ian hadn’t really had any proper sex since the month prior. He’d been super-busy with his new movie release, and juggling that with having to be on set for the show. He’d definitely gotten blown a few times, but other than that, nothing to speak of. That was simply unacceptable. Tonight, he was celebrating the end of a great season, the start of a nice hiatus, and the prospect of his next movie project starting soon. May as well treat himself. He was going to find himself a good egg to take home and scramble all night long.

“Trolling for dick again?” she jested.

“Yep. Haven’t got anything decent in a while. Need some release.”

“Your condition _must_ be serious if you’re gonna ditch me at the wrap party, you little ingrate.”

“Right, cuz I’m sure you won’t be riding any dick trains tonight.”

“Hey! I’m a lady! I haven’t had a _train_ run on me in years.”

Ian chuckled. “Stay classy.”

“Always.”

“When are you leaving for London again?” he inquired.

“Wednesday, so you better damn well make sure you’re available to me on Tuesday night, you rat bastard, cuz I’m not gonna see you for at least three months.”

“Calm your tits, I’ll be there. I cleared my schedule for the next week so I don’t have to do shit. I should’ve gotten a ticket somewhere and just lain on a private beach alone for seven days straight.”

“Oh yeah, I love staring out at the endless grayness of the sky and the ocean,” she quipped.

“Still _feels_ nice, anyway,” he shrugged, shedding the last of his clothes and heading for the tiny bathroom.

Karen let out a deep sigh, and he heard her mumbling dejectedly under her breath as he retreated, “Stupid fucking grayscale bullshit.”

Ian smiled sadly to himself. Karen had a lot of the same problems with the soulmate connection that Ian had, albeit without the gay element included, and even though she hid it well (good actress and all that), he was pretty sure that she wanted to get her meeting and connection resolved as soon as possible. She was practically desperate for it. She was one of those people who were so brazen, they were constantly showing it off with bold acts. . . Like, she would kiss almost every single person she met just to cross them off of her unending list of Could Be’s. Anyone who crossed her path that she could remotely imagine possibly being the one: boy, girl, old person, it didn’t matter, she would grab ‘em and plant one right on the kisser. It wasn’t a completely uncommon thing, seeing as adventurous people everywhere adopted similar philosophies to try and eke out The One. But, Ian figured it may actually be a detrimental strategy in the long run, because you could only kiss so many actual frogs, right?

“Go get ready to leave, babe,” he urged her. “Meet me at my place later. I’ll text you.”

“Whatever,” he heard her say in a perfect imitation of Cher from Clueless, and he closed the door.

Later that night, Ian found himself riding the high of emotion that tended to encompass these annual gatherings. He got along so well with all of his coworkers and they really were like a family. He was kind of dreading the last one, whenever it would finally come.

He’d managed to get a pleasant buzz going, while staying sober enough not to act like an idiot once he arrived at the club he was heading to. Of course, Karen being Karen, she couldn’t resist slipping him a small vial of MDMA, insisting that he enjoy the benefits of a hired driver on his way over and ‘take a little bit to make things shiny and tingly.’

He’d ended up chugging a good third of it down quickly with a half liter of water right before he got out of the car and made his way inside.

He had a strange feeling about tonight. The molly hadn’t even kicked in yet. It was something else. Something intangible almost, but it had him feeling electric and loose. Pretty soon he’d be unable to wipe the smile off his face, and things would get properly interesting from there.

He could see it now.

  


* * *

  


“Don’t mention it, Mrs. F,” Mickey smiled, and closed the door behind him as he exited the shop.

He had a comically old-timey looking toolbox fisted in his right hand, which happened to be emblazoned with the word ‘FUCK’ right across his knuckles, and a plastic bag full of food containers hanging from his left hand, which completed the sentiment with ‘U-UP’. Lucky for him, the old folks around these parts didn’t give a shit about any of that superficial stuff. They didn’t ask Mickey any questions, and that’s exactly how he liked it.

He’d only been sprung from the joint for about six months, after a three-year stretch, and he was keeping his head down this time around, not anxious for yet another repeat trip. He was done wasting any more of his life locked up because of money. No matter what the crime was that he’d ever gotten busted for, the end purpose had always been about getting him and his sister, Mandy, more money. They’d been skating by for a good while, doing so well that he’d started to get fucking greedy in the end, and that had made his behavior riskier and more erratic, which had in turn gotten him caught like an asshole. He didn’t want to get that comfortable again. He’d started to think he was untouchable. Clearly, that wasn’t a fact at all.

Now he worked in a small specialty hardware shop, on the books and above the boards, fulfilling the terms of his parole. He also did various odd jobs around the neighborhood, on the side and under the table, for extra cash, all set up through the endlessly understanding and helpful Mrs. Feng. Mickey wasn’t sure exactly what he did to get on her good side, but he imagined she mostly appreciated his no-bullshit attitude. He also knew it had something to do with her belief in second chances due to some bad personal experiences with her own son, so there was something inherent in their bond that made Mickey not want to disappoint her, which was a strange sensation for him. Somehow, he was slowly ending up with a middle-aged Chinese surrogate mom who more often than not, lately, sent him home with homemade meals in tupperware that she expected returned washed and ready to be filled again. She’d even managed to gain his sister’s trust somehow, and she was the most suspicious person he’d known in his entire life.

Of course it was hard not to be suspicious to the bone when you were raised by wolves, which Mickey supposed was what the pack of criminals known as the Milkovich family could best be described as. His shit father, Terry, certainly had a fucking mean enough nature to be classified as a feral animal. He wasn’t very bright, lacking the brains to really run anything more than drugs and weapons from one place to another, or oversee your average B & E, knock over an incoming delivery truck or a local convenience store, and what have you; a lot of dumb, obvious shit that would get you pinched in a second, and usually led to most of their brood being locked away more often than not.

But, whereas Terry lacked any kind of finesse or common sense to pull off interesting operations, his uncle Max had been a proper con man, and had taught a young and impressionable Mickey to follow in his footsteps from a young age. At a certain point, he’d insisted that Mandy get in on the training as well, and they’d soon become a kind of master tag team. They grew up in Philly, and when it was just the two of them, their specialty had been pick-pocketing around the big tourist spots like Independence Hall, and at the drunken game rallies outside The Bank during baseball season. When they were with Max, things got more personal. He was an old heartless fuck who hated being old, and seemed to take it out on the universe by primarily screwing over gullible elderly folks with long cons. Mickey and Mandy played the part of ‘doting grandchildren’ to help sell Max’s good guy illusion.

Mickey was now 28 years old, Mandy being two years his junior, and up until they’d gotten busted and Mickey had taken all the heat for it, the pair of them had been thriving in Los Angeles for almost four years, almost purely off scams alone.

They had all manner of minor setups, mainly involving various forms of mail order fraud with scam-specific P.O. boxes all around town, advertising in rotating printed rags and online ads under different product names, using slightly different wording every once in a while. Their primary bread and butter, however, had been the classic honey-badger game: luring dudes back to quiet places, such as the fancy hotels they were staying at, with the promise of sex, and then blackmailing them instead of fucking them. They took turns being the bait and the enforcer ‘catching them in the act’. The darker the secret, the more people wanted it to stay hidden, so they mainly marked uptight conservative dudes who were either deep in the closet and looking for a gay getaway, or who wanted stuff way beyond the regular, vanilla straight shit their wives would let them get away with, looking to get their fill while out of town on business.

The thing of it was, though, that while back then he had been prone to posing as a hustler turning tricks to trap his marks, he’d never actually gone through with anything and been paid for sex. Mandy, on the other hand, had merely pretended to be an escort back then, but after Mickey’d gotten locked up, it had been too dangerous for her to continue with the jig any longer; it was up. She couldn’t do it alone. As soon as the arrest went down, Mandy had been smart enough to immediately haul ass to get to all the cash locked away in their safe. She’d thrown all its contents, along with all of her most favorite shit, into a couple of giant suitcases, and gotten the fuck out of their place. Once she’d run through their savings, though, she’d been forced to do the only thing she could think of to get by, that she knew she had the skills for and paid good money if you worked for the right set of people, and that was escorting for real.

That meant that Mickey was now forced to deal with the knowledge that his baby sister was getting paid to fulfill all manner of disturbing sexual requests, because he was a good for nothing piece of shit that couldn’t give her a decent life without having to resort to such degrading measures. He hated himself for it, and tried not to take that anger out on her.

When she’d first told him about it, he’d been furious, and he’d tried to forbid her from continuing with it. The initial look on her face had been so sad and crumpled, but she’d soon squared her shoulders, steeled herself, and given him one of the most impressive ‘fuck you’ bitch-faces he’d ever seen her wear. She’d then proceeded to berate him in very colorful language about exactly what he could do with his opinions on her life. It wasn’t like he could exert much influence from behind bars anyway. Mickey had stewed in his cell all afternoon, then picked a fight with a guy much larger than himself in the recreation yard as soon as he’d been let out. Getting thrown into solitary for a couple of days had been worth the adrenaline boost and the thrill of release.

Now that he’d been out a while, though, he was actively trying to get her to stop. Trouble was that she was bringing in the most money out of the two of them now, and Mandy in particular had grown accustomed to living at a certain minimum standard that wasn’t extravagant by most standards, but well enough above where they’d spent most of their lives at. She flat out refused to backslide into any kind of situation remotely resembling the kind of squalor they’d known as children. She had to be a good handful of stations above that by any means necessary.

Mickey understood where that came from, of course. It wasn’t like he didn’t feel the same way. It was the same sentiment that had made him sloppy enough to get nabbed, after all. However, the fact remained that he’d never actually sold his ass to keep his level of income close to where it used to be. He knew Mandy wasn’t into her job the way that he knew some sex workers were. He’d watched a lot of documentaries while he was locked up, and took mental notes whenever he saw any on prostitution, like they would give him some sort of edge with her or something. They hadn’t.

At this point, Mickey often wondered if she was only still doing it out of spite toward him, like some sort of subliminal way of lashing out for abandoning her when he’d been arrested, even though he had in fact saved her ass from going down right alongside him with his usual quick thinking.

He also knew that Mandy felt guilty about blowing through all their joint savings while he was away. They’d always added their shares to it equally and had always intended on splitting it right down the middle whenever the time came. By the time Mandy had spent her half, it had been easy to just keep going, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. She swore to him up and down at least once a week that she was eventually going to pay him back for every cent of his portion. At this point, he’d stopped arguing and just placated her with non-verbal gestures and grunts that were meant to say, ‘Yeah, I totally believe you and can’t wait.’ The truth was, he’d much prefer to be broke as shit and not have his sister be this hollow shell of her former self that she was slowly becoming. It was beginning to disturb him when he thought about it too long.

Something needed to change. He had to find a way to get them out of this depressing-ass slump.

Mickey also suspected that Mandy had been getting really down on herself about not finding The One yet. It was another reason he hated her current line of work. He was sure that it didn’t help her think about nice things like meeting the guy she should be with and getting color and everything. He was worried their shitty lives had made her too jaded to appreciate the whole phenomenon, like she was slowly convincing herself that it was never going to happen to her, because she didn’t deserve it or some bullshit reason like that.

It’s not like he himself was anxious to discover his own Soulmate Connection, but it was more like just some foreign concept to him that he figured would happen at some point regardless of his feelings on the matter. He didn’t really consider it being something that could upend his entire life, throwing everything he thought he knew into total chaos, proving that he was an idiot human being after all. He just couldn’t _picture_ what this dude was gonna look like, act like, or anything. He’d never been anyone’s idea of emotionally available at any point in his entire life. The only person who ever even saw his softer side was his sister, really, and maybe recently Mrs. F too. She had a way of getting him to talk, even though he hated talking to most people.

When he was growing up, and had first realized that he was attracted to boys and not girls, he’d felt obligated to hide it from his family, lest his father ever catch even a vague whiff of it and destroy him. That had been one of Mickey’s prime motivations for getting the fuck out of dodge once they’d managed to stash away enough cash of their own without their dad being the wiser.

They’d waited until Mandy turned 18, just to make sure there was no way anyone could be out trying to track down a missing minor, though they doubted anyone would’ve reported it in the first place. Mickey was 20, and had been under his uncle Max’s tutelage for a good six years at that point. Instead of risking leaving any kind of trail behind them by getting bus tickets or the like, they’d decided early on to buy a decent-running used car before they left, and drive it until they hit the Pacific ocean. Mandy wouldn’t hear of doing anything else first, once they’d arrived in the city.

He didn’t know why they picked Los Angeles, rather than somewhere farther north, or even somewhere south. It wasn’t like either of them were out there to try and be a star or anything. He supposed it was the glamour of it, mixed with the dirty side of it. The grittier parts made Mickey feel pretty comfortable, but then as his con game had grown more sophisticated, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t also gotten comfortable with the nicer parts too.

The apartment he and Mandy had shared during the last year before he went in was even just a touch what you might call ‘swanky.’ They’d always said they’d keep things strictly lower middle class to avoid suspicion and increase their risk. They didn’t pull bigger jobs, not because they weren’t capable, but because they didn’t want to get caught out of greed. If they just worked who they had to work in order to maintain a certain pay grade, then that was enough. Then again, it was just human nature to always be wanting more, really.

The place they lived in now was much more modest, but it was clean, and they had enough room to stay out of each other’s hair when they needed to.

He arrived home after a short 15-minute drive from the hardware store. They lived in a fourplex in the Valley, in a neighborhood with plenty of cheap, delicious ethnic food. That was one thing he _could_ say for it.

He walked into their kitchen just in front of the entryway and placed the food he’d been sent home with on the counter, calling out for his sister in the process. “Mandy! Dinner if you want it!”

It was nearing 6:30 pm, still fully light out during that time of year, but soon to start fading out. He went to the fridge and pulled out a cold beer, cracking it open with the magnet bottle opener on the freezer door, not bothering to pick the cap off the floor when it fell. Instead, he let his head fall back and guzzle almost half the bottle down in one pull. He closed his eyes and made one of those cheesy, “Ahhhh,” noises of thirst satisfaction.

“Ew,” groused Mandy, scrunching up her nose in disgust as she entered the small space, “the fuck are you moaning over a beer for? I think that may be a sign that you need to get laid, little brother.”

Mickey rolled his eyes heavenward. She liked to needle him by calling him _little_ brother whenever she happened to be wearing her sky-high harlot heels, looking down at him with that fucking maddeningly challenging look she got sometimes, face a perfect mask of slutty make-up, hair gleaming and flowing all lusciously, blown out bangs framing her face flawlessly. She projected an air of ruling the fucking world when she was all dressed up like she was when she was heading out to meet up with a john. Mickey refused to call any of them by the euphemism ‘date.’ He didn’t sugarcoat things for other people’s benefit, not even his sister’s.

“You get laid plenty enough for this entire building though, don’tcha, sis? And stop it with the little hooker power-trip thing you do to me before you go out. It’s ridiculous.”

Mandy just smirked at his typical ribbing. “Didn’t hear you denying that you need to get some. Gettin’ a little too lonely without your cellmate’s warm dick to keep you company at night?”

“Fuck off, I never fucked my cellmate, dipshit. That would’a been a terrible move, strategically speaking.”

“Whatever, assface, just go out and get some, _please_. You’ve been driving me crazy lately with your moping. I’ve never seen you fucking mope before you went away. If some good deep dicking will get you to stop acting like a bitch, then by all means, go reel you in an impressive one.”

“Maybe I will, but why don’t you let _me_ worry about my ass and what goes in it, and you just concentrate on not _reeling in_ any gonorrhea while you’re out climbin’ dicks of your own.”

Mandy remained impassive, glancing down at her nails as if they were fascinating. “Sure thing. Look, just make sure you hit up someplace classy. No back alley fumbles outside a dive bar tonight. Get someone nice and clean that can go all night. _In a bed_. Someone really fucking hot. Turn up the charm like you used to and bag someone you think is out of your league. You’ll get the bounce back in your step in no time, and my life will become that little bit more stress-free.”

“Anything else you wanna dictate to me about my life right now?” Mickey asked incredulously.

“Just that you _will_ leave me some of Mrs. F’s food and I’ll eat it later.” With that, she turned heel and left, grabbing her jacket and purse from the coatrack in the foyer (they were sophisticated enough to own dumb shit like that now), before exiting.

Mickey sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter to swallow the rest of his beer. Maybe his stupid sister was right. He had been out of his element lately, because he was having a hard time seeing a way out of the mess he’d made of their lives. It was getting to him more and more everyday. Frivolous as it was, some good old-fashioned casual sex could be just the thing to reinvigorate the senses and clear out all the cobwebs: dick cobwebs, ass cobwebs, brain cobwebs. . . they were all connected. Maybe a night of receiving a thorough pounding would be just the ticket.

He heeded his sister’s advice and went somewhere he hadn’t been since before prison. . . One of the upscale places he used to go to pick up guys with a decent disposable income he could cash in on.

It felt good to slip into a different mindset, and kind of play a different part again. He’d even dug out some of his old clothes from the recesses of his closet. . . the fancy button-downs and designer slacks that he never even thought about wearing anymore. He knew how to _look_ like he knew what he was doing with his life, at least. That was something, he supposed.

When he looked over from his post at the bar, and saw a supremely hot guy with a sharply cut square jaw standing at the edge of the dance floor staring at him, it was like bells started going off in his head, accompanied by a fluttering sensation running down his spine, and the jostling of fireworks exploding in his stomach.

No need to look any further. The target had been acquired, and was shortly to be engaged.

  



	2. The Edge of Doom

Ian shook his head as the guy he was ogling turned away, back toward the bar he’d been leaning against when they’d made direct eye contact. He’d only been there for about 15 minutes or so, and he’d just been sort of idling by the railing at one edge of the dance floor, _looking_. He wasn’t sure what for yet, but _something_. . . some _one_. When he’d turned his back on the gyrating crowd to face the bar, that’s when he’d seen it. . . _him_.

He hadn’t even realized how openly he’d been staring until the guy caught his eye. Ian froze for a second, expecting a very quick aversion of the man’s gaze, but was encouraged by the obvious, lingering pause and once over, assuring him that he wasn’t being rebuffed before he’d faced away from him coyly. A smile made its way onto Ian’s face very easily from there, and he strode forward to stand behind a guy who was standing next to the guy he wanted to talk to, apparently closing out his tab. He figured he’d wait until he could claim that spot at the bar, order a drink, and casually lean over to introduce himself.

Mickey could feel the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the hot guy he’d caught watching him took a position near where he was standing, clearly waiting to be able to slide into a gap at the bar once someone next to him left. He wondered why the dude didn’t just tap him on the shoulder. He figured he was probably a lot smoother than that, judging by the look of him. Aside from the fact that Mickey could see him approaching peripherally in the mirror behind the shelves on the bar wall in front of him, there was still this strange subtle sensation of just _knowing_ he was there. That didn’t really make any sense, and maybe he couldn’t adequately even put his finger on it, but it was something like that. There was a kind of _presence_ about the dude. It was a little unnerving.

He finally felt the guy next to him shift away, and Mickey ever-so-slightly pivoted his body so that he was more in profile to the person settling next to him. He swallowed a drink of his rye whiskey and noted one of the guy’s hands raising to signal for a bartender.

“Screwdriver and a water, please,” he heard the guy request, and Mickey couldn’t help the snort that erupted from one nostril.

Ian’s head shot to the side at the clear noise of derision made by the man he was just about to talk to. “What?” he inquired in an amused tone.

The guy shifted his body toward him a bit more in acknowledgment, but didn’t turn his head as he spoke. “A _screwdriver_? What is this, like, totally your first time out at the club? Are, like, the rest of the sorostitutes waiting for their token queer to return?”

“No, actually,” Ian replied, unfazed, still studying the man’s face, “I took some drugs that make me crave citrusy things. Don’t worry, my drinks are usually of a more manly persuasion, if taste in cocktails is the kind of shit that has bearing on someone’s personality to you.”

The guy finally turned his head to meet Ian’s gaze and his dark eyebrows arched beautifully high on his crinkled forehead, his expression clearly illustrating that Ian had taken him aback. “What kinda drugs?”

Ian considered his appearance a little more closely for a moment, trying not to get caught up in smooth-looking skin, penetrating gradient-shaded eyes, or plump lips; instead noting the subtle scar near his hairline, the not-so-subtle knuckle tats he sported openly, and the general air of aloofness about him. He decided he was probably okay to trust. “Molly,” he shrugged.

“Oh god,” Mickey groaned. “You some kinda high-class club kid?”

Ian laughed deeply at the presumption, and started feeling the fuzzy effects of the MDMA kicking in finally. He felt his face stuck in a stupid grin he couldn’t shake. “ _So_ _not_ a fucking club kid, dude.” He tittered again.

Mickey couldn’t help but be amused, even though he felt like this should be annoying, rather than charming. Anyone else would’ve lost his attention right when the excessive giggling commenced. “Why you out drinkin’ and rollin’ by yourself, then, genius?”

“Celebrating,” Ian said through his continuous smile. “I was with people, then I decided to break away on my own for, you know, _reasons_.”

He couldn’t help but focus on that right eyebrow arching high again.

“Yeah, I can imagine your reasons,” teased Mickey.

“I bet you can. I’m Ian.” He offered his hand, and as the soft, warm palm pressed against his own, their eyes locked, and all the air seemed to be sucked right out of him. Something about this guy felt. . . _familiar_.

“Mickey,” the other man murmured breathily.

“You wanna dance, Mickey?”

“I, uh. . .” he started to respond, trailing off and trying to shake off his seeming trance. “Look, if we’re gonna hang out, I think I need to get on your level. I can’t take you seriously with that crazy smirk on your face.”

Ian laughed again and took a sip of his drink through the tiny cocktail straw, before pulling back and saying, “Follow me.”

Mickey swallowed the last of his drink and went to set the glass down on the bar, but Ian called back, “Bring the glass.”

They ended up in the bathroom, and he gave Ian a look as he motioned for Mickey to follow him into a stall. “Didn’t realize we were jumpin’ straight to blowjobs in the bathroom, dude. Coulda’ warned me.”

Ian snorted. “What, you do drugs out in the open usually?”

“Isn’t it just a capsule? Take it like a pill?”

“Nah, it’s not in capsules. Just the powder. My friend Karen got it, and she gets the best of the best always. It’s pure as fuck.”

He poured a third of his screwdriver into Mickey’s empty tumbler and then pulled out his little vial, dumping half the remaining contents in and then swizzling it around with his straw.

Mickey quickly threw it back and made a face. Ian laughed and handed him the still unopened bottle of water.

“Thanks,” he said, and swallowed half of it down to rid himself of the chemical taste left on his tongue.

They each stood leaning on opposite sides of the stall staring at each other for a moment, Ian still with that goofy look on his face as he sipped his drink, Mickey’s expression much more subtle and in control.

“Now you just gotta wait like 20 minutes or so,” Ian said. “Wonder what we could do in the meantime.” He gave him a meaningful once over and tried to lean in close to Mickey’s face.

Mickey’s hand shot out automatically to push him back, trying not to indulge in the pleasing feel of the hard curves of Ian’s muscles beneath his fingertips. “Whoa, whoa, easy there tiger. I’m not really a kisser.”

Ian cackled and rolled his eyes, “What? _Why_?”

Mickey just shrugged, wanting to leave it at that.

“Wait, do you. . . are you already Color Active?” Ian asked, and his smile did finally slip for a moment.

“ _What_? No!”

“Then why? You don’t wanna make The Connection?”

“It’s not like I _never_ kiss, it’s just. . . I don’t just do it like that. . . I don’t know why. It’s just the way I am.”

“Okay then,” Ian replied. “Maybe I can change your mind, though?”

Mickey snorted and shook his head. “Maybe, Romeo, we’ll see.”

Ian was back to smiling fully again, and Mickey really wished he would quit it. He’d never known a guy’s smile to have this kind of effect on him. Something about it felt magnetic. They ogled each other openly again for a moment, until Mickey spoke, “You look familiar somehow.”

Ian tensed slightly and looked away. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Why is that?”

“Uhhh. . . you may have seen me in something before. I’m an actor.”

“Oh shit! No wonder! I thought I was goin’ crazy or somethin’. I felt like I knew you somehow. Ain’t you on some TV show?”

“Yeah. It’s called _The Manor_. You know it?”

“My sister watches it. I guess I’ve caught bits and pieces here and there. I don’t really watch fictional shows.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re into reality TV?” Ian chided, wrinkling his his nose.

“No, I’m, uh, kind of a dork when it comes to TV. I like documentaries and PBS-type shows.”

“So like. . . news, and history, and nature, and shit?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Is everything about you as surprising as that fact?”

“Not really, no. Some stuff is pretty fuckin’ obvious.”

“Mmm,” answered Ian, nodding toward his knuckle tats, “that mean you’ve been inside?”

“Once or twice,” Mickey admitted.

“No teardrops on your face, though, so I can assume you didn’t murder anyone?”

Mickey let out a boisterous laugh and shook his head. “Pretty sure that’s a tradition in Mexican gangs. I ain’t Mexican, man.”

“So. . . are you trying to say you _have_ killed someone? Did you shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die?”

“Nah, other than some rightfully deserved beatdowns that probly landed some dudes in the hospital, I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“Holy shit, getting a straight answer out of you is like pulling fucking teeth!” Ian exclaimed.

Mickey rolled his eyes, and continued to surprise himself by blurting out the truth to this fucking primetime television actor who was now confirmed to be _several_ leagues away from whatever one he was in. He stuck his hands out to his sides and everything as he declared, “I’m a thief.”

Ian looked impressed, for some reason. “Like a _jewel_ thief? I’ve always wanted to pull off like an art museum heist. That would be so cool!”

“Um, no,” Mickey said chuckling, “Jesus, your imagination. . . nothin’ nearly that intricate or cool, just a run-of-the-mill con-man, dude. But I don’t do that shit anymore.”

“Really? That why you’re in a place like this picking up guys?”

“Used to come here to mark people, not gonna lie, and maybe when I first saw you, it did cross my mind. Old habits, and all that. But, nah, tonight I came for the same reason you did.”

“Celebrating?”

“Nah, to get laid.”

Ian laughed heartily at his blunt honesty. “Touché. Let’s get outta this dirty bathroom.”

He pushed himself away from the wall, threw back the remainder of his drink, sat the empty glass on the back of the toilet, grabbed Mickey by the hand, and pulled him all the way out onto the dance floor before he let go. Ian turned to face him, stepping in close and crowding his personal space as the multitude surrounding them swallowed up their bodies, absorbing them into the sea they all formed together, waving to and fro.

Mickey felt a kind of tingling climb up his extremities like sentient vines blooming inside of his muscles and pushing up out of his pores, until suddenly his entire being seemed to be undulating with some persistent throb of pleasure. It felt like a physical thing. . . an _ache_. . .And when he looked up at Ian’s smiling face again, he noticed how bright his eyes were. His pupils were dilated right out to the very edges of his hazy irises, probably a side effect of the drugs, but it made Mickey think of sex. . . really _good_ sex.

Ian watched in open delight as Mickey’s body seemed to relax into their little section of the pulsing throng, and he could imagine the feeling he’d had flowing through him for the better part of an hour taking hold of the somewhat uptight nature that operated at the core of Mickey. A sense of wonderment filled Ian up as the sweetest of toothy smiles overtook the man’s heretofore composed countenance. Mickey looked up into Ian’s eyes, expression so lusty it made Ian hyper-aware of his heart beating practically in sync with the rapid BPM of the song currently blaring from the club speakers, which seemed to engulf all the space around them, just as present as the mass of bodies bouncing around them.

He leaned in to holler in Mickey’s ear, “You have an amazing smile!”

He pulled back and watched the comically incredulous face Mickey made, smile still firmly in place despite the evident skepticism, and he leaned up into Ian’s ear to holler back, “Fuck you, I ain’t smilin’ at shit!”

Mickey then shoved at his chest playfully, but Ian’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, and he swayed a bit, bumping into someone behind him, but snapping back quickly to his starting point like a weeble-wobble. He grabbed Mickey by the hips and pulled him closer to start moving against him in a rhythmic way that wasn’t too complicated. Ian could tell he wasn’t really a dancer, so he kept it basic. Problem was, any moment now, they were both gonna end up popping boners, because that’s what incessant friction does to a guy, and MDMA is nothing if not an invitation to rub on everything like it’s made of magic, and marvel at the incredible wisdom of the universe in creating the sensation of _skin_ rubbing against _things_.

Mickey was fine to just kind of melt into Ian’s larger frame and be led in whatever weird mating ritual was happening here. But fuck, it felt good. He was suddenly very cognizant of the dopey smile Ian had mentioned his face sporting now. He felt it acutely, pushing his muscles and skin into forms they didn’t normally make for prolonged periods of time, exposing his teeth and his gums to the warm air of the club. Why the fuck was he so. . . excited? Giddy? Happy to be alive?

Fucking uppers. He should do them more often.

Now he could feel the beads of sweat forming at his hairline, and he took the opportunity to roll up his shirt sleeves above his elbows, but he immediately regretted it, because it seemed to give Ian an even better idea. Mickey was hopelessly spellbound by the sight of Ian reaching over his shoulder to grab the neck of his shirt and pull it up over his head, eyes immediately darting lower to the hem of his shirt as if drawn there, desperately waiting for the flesh below to be revealed, and it was like they were stuck in slow-motion. It felt like an excruciatingly long time before glistening abs, and pecs, and biceps were unveiled like a glorious set of gifts just for him to appreciate.

Ian tucked the tee shirt into the back of his pants, letting it hang from the waistband as he swayed with the music. He watched Mickey watching him, and ran a hand through his rapidly dampening hair, licking his lips and wondering if he should just go for it and try to kiss Mickey again. The worst that could happen was he’d get pushed away once more. He was sure he’d at least get to fuck him, but Ian wasn’t going to let this one go without being sure. He felt an attraction to him that he couldn’t recall being present in a long time. He supposed it could be the molly talking, but it struck him as bigger than all that for some reason. He felt like he was cosmically in tune with some other plane, or dimension, maybe some fucking parallel universe that had Mickey’s whole being calling out to him or something. He’d never been fucked up before and thought _that_ about another person. Not that he could remember, at least.

Throwing caution to the wind, Ian reached his hands out to grasp Mickey’s hips again, and pulled him in closer so that they pressed together now, and he didn’t give a fuck anymore, he let his obvious hard-on rub against Mickey’s firm upper thigh, letting out an unintentional moan and gasping at the contact. He felt Mickey’s tattooed hands clasp around his upper arms as he pressed his own erection against Ian’s opposite thigh, slightly lower on his taller frame.

Oh god, Mickey should be fucking embarrassed as shit, but he just couldn’t be. He was fucking dry-humping a famous actor in the middle of a posh dance floor, dangerously close to busting a nut in his pants like some cluelessly horny pre-teen who hadn’t figured out how to jack off yet, but found a dirty picture and humped into a pillow experimentally until nature had taken its course. Ian and his demon drugs of sex and destruction had him acting like a pathetic little virgin. Mickey could feel those large, strong hands everywhere too, exploring along his back, and squeezing at his ass just how he liked it. His breath hitched a little as he pulled his head back to look at Ian’s face. He couldn’t help himself.

So entranced was Mickey by the rapturous expression painted on Ian’s sweet visage that it didn’t even occur to him to pull away when he started leaning in again. Mickey didn’t make any move at all to prevent those lips from coming straight at him, he just closed his eyes instinctively and let it happen.

No matter how infinitely lame it sounded, Ian would always swear that time actually stood still the second he closed his eyes and crashed his mouth into Mickey’s for the first time. His hands came up to wrap around the sides of Mickey’s head, keeping him firmly in place with a strong grip, and he felt Mickey trailing one hand over the side of his neck, the other firmly pressing into the small of his back. For someone claiming not to be a kisser, Mickey sure had a winning technique as far as Ian was concerned. He moaned a little around his tongue, and moved one of his hands back to Mickey’s waist, pulling him tighter against his body so that it felt like there wasn’t any space left between them at all.

They were both breathing heavily through their noses, eyes clamped tightly shut all the while, reveling in the deep sensations their other senses were bursting at the seams with, and it was easy to forget that anything or anyone else even existed in the entirety of the galaxy.

Ian blinked for a split second, and his whole fucking life changed.

He gasped and his mouth fell open and stopped working completely, eyes bugging out of his head as rays of light in shades he’d never seen before flashed all across the crowd around him, and over the handsome face in front of him. The face in front of him. . . the person. . . _Mickey_. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

Mickey’s eyes snapped opened because he suddenly found himself tonguing up a stiff, slack-jawed mannequin, rather than an actively involved person, and he wanted to figure out what the fuck was going on. Such a stupid reason to open his eyes right then in that moment. He’d actually thought he was about to be roundly rejected. . . deemed a laughably terrible kisser that couldn’t dream of ever getting on that Hollywood dreamboat. Instead, he’d found it a struggle not to accidentally bite the tip of Ian’s tongue clean off with the force of his surprise.

His vision. His vision fucking _changed_. He’d kissed Ian and now everything was different. This was. . . this was fucking _color_. That meant. . . _Ian_. . . Ian was his. . .

They stood in front of one another, mouths humorously agape, just staring at the colors that made up the other person; their skin, hair, eyes, lips, nipples; the flickering lights dancing all over everything, too dark to really see each other properly, but it was like a state of shock. There was no other way to put it. Neither had been prepared for a thing of this magnitude. Here. _Tonight_. Between the two of them. It was fucking insanity.

Ian wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when they seemed to mutually fall out of their astonished, supercharged bubble, but seeing the soft, uncertain look coming over Mickey’s face, he reached out a hand, relieved when the other man took it without question and followed him out of the building. They needed quiet. They needed to figure this all out. They needed to fucking _talk_. Holy shit, did they need to fucking talk. And where to even _begin_?

As they stumbled onto the sidewalk, having escaped through a side door and avoided the mob out front vying to get inside, the cool breeze hit their skin, and Ian realized he was still shirtless. He chuckled and pulled the top out of his waistband, pausing to admire the shade of it he couldn’t name before he pulled it back over his head.

He looked over to find Mickey leaning back against the wall, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his shirt with shaking hands, studying everything in the vicinity with avid interest. He pulled out a lighter and paused to look at it a moment as he stuck a stick in his mouth. Then he sparked the lighter on and they both let out a little thrilled yell, Ian stepping closer as the cigarette fell right out of Mickey’s open mouth. They gaped at the fire in total awe, smiles widening once more.

“I can’t fucking believe. . .” Ian began, not knowing where to go from there, though. This was all so much to take in. He couldn’t fathom what was happening. Poor Mickey, though. He looked like a frazzled mess, trembling as he held the lighter aloft until a gust of wind extinguished the bright flame. Ian reached out and wrested it from his grip, then bent down to retrieve the fallen cigarette. He stood back up and put it in his own mouth, bringing the lighter to it and watching in delight as the fire erupted once more and he inhaled the smoke into his lungs deeply, lifting his face to the sky as he exhaled it in a long stream. He took one more hit and held it out for Mickey. “You doin’ okay over there?”

He met Ian’s eyes as he leaned forward to take the proffered cig back and puffed on it eagerly, settling into the wall once more, before letting out a shaky laugh. “I, uh, don’t really know how to answer that.”

“Yeah, I know,” agreed Ian with an uncertain chuckle of his own. “Man, it sucks that this happened at night. I can’t wait to see the daytime sky, you know?”

Mickey couldn’t help a fond smile. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be blue.”

“Yeah, _sky_ blue. The ocean is blue too, but it can be different shades in different places, but it’s darker than the sky usually.”

“Yeah, thanks for the fuckin’ elementary school lesson. You gonna tell me how the sun is yellow and the grass is green too?”

Ian looked slightly chagrined, but quickly recovered. “Fuck you, I’m just excited! I don’t know about you, but I’ve been looking forward to color more than. . .”

Mickey arched an eyebrow and twisted his mouth in a little surprised grin, “More than what, Casanova?”

“I didn’t mean it–”

“You’ve been lookin’ forward to color more than meeting me, right? Just spit it out.” He didn’t look upset, but more like tickled or something.

“Well, not _you_ per say, I didn’t know it was gonna be _you_. I was just. . . you know, that was harder to put my finger on, I guess? I tried not to think about _the person_ too much, you know? So I wouldn’t have room to be, like, disappointed or whatever. I don’t know. I just hated that there were all these people out in the world getting to enjoy the benefits of something I didn’t. That’s way more tangible, you know? I get color, and then everything is different, but of course, now you’re here too, and so everything is really _really_ different.”

“Christ, do you always ramble on and on like this? Please tell me it’s just a drug thing. I think most of what you said was nonsensical anyway, man.”

Ian’s eyes looked all big and pretty, and Mickey was expecting him to shy away from the taunting at first, but then a giddy rush of  laughter burst forth, and then Mickey had gotten swept up in it for some unknown reason, until they were both in stitches to the point of doubling over.

When the laughter had finally petered out, Mickey was bringing out another cigarette, and Ian held his hand out for one as well. They eagerly watched the flame light the ends of both smokes at once and Ian pulled back, exhaling the first pull. “Do you. . .” he trailed off.

“Do I what?” prodded Mickey.

“Do you feel,” Ian gestured between them, “I don’t know, _anything_? Like, does it feel like fate, or destiny, or whatever?”

Mickey straightened up for a moment, scratching his head, and trying to really think about it. “I don’t know, man. Honestly. I. . . I just feel like it’s happening really fast, and it’s fuckin’ crazy. I didn’t. . . I wasn’t ever sure this would happen, you know?”

“Really? Why? The gay thing?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, ain’t about bein’ gay, but. . . it’s complicated. I’ll. . . I mean, I guess I’ll have to tell you about it someday, right?”

“Well, you don’t _have_ to. Technically, we don’t _have_ to do anything, but I think that would be pretty fucking stupid, don’t you?”

Mickey shrugged. “I guess. But who’s to say we’re gonna get along like that, though? I mean, just because we. . . you know. . . I mean, we don’t just automatically _love_ each other, do we?”

“No. I mean, I don’t _feel_ like I love you or anything, but I did feel. . . and I _still_ feel. . . like you were familiar when I first saw you. And when we were talking, it was sorta like I knew you already. Did _you_. . . I mean, I know you said you saw me on TV or whatever, but did you feel like that too at all?”

Seeing someone as attractive and successful as Ian standing in the dingy alleyway looking so unsure of himself, like he was worried that Mickey was going to just up and run out on this whole surreal situation they found themselves in, it seemed absurd, but it charmed him even more. No, Mickey may have no fucking clue what the hell was going on, but damn it all if he wasn’t gonna be there to play it out.

Mickey took a deep drag, then exhaled, softly admitting, “Yeah. Yeah I felt it too.”

Ian’s smile was so bright, but Mickey wished the lighting was better out there so he could see the true color of his lips once and for all.

As if their minds were fucking connected, Ian said, “You have to stay the night with me, so we can see the sun and the sky first thing in the morning. It would be good to experience it all together for the first time, right? Get to know each other? Bond and whatnot?”

“Yeah, man, chill the fuck out. I’m in.”

Ian blew out a puff of smoke and surged forward, grabbing Mickey around the collar and backing him up against the wall again, pressing their mouths back together for a few seconds. Then he leaned back, eyes sweeping over Mickey’s face. “Is this okay?”

“I guess so. I mean, the last time you did that, the whole world changed right before my fuckin’ eyes. Wouldn’t make sense to stop now.”

Ian was gazing at him with a startling amount of affection for a near-complete stranger. A stranger that the universe had just told him flat out was the most important person he was ever gonna meet, but a stranger nonetheless. “You’re cute,” Ian remarked, pecking his lips a few times, then pulling back to trace them with his finger. “I’m really _really_ into whatever color this is.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and shoved Ian away at last. “Alright, enough flattery, I already said I’d spend the night with you. Ain’t gotta lay it on so thick.”

Ian chortled and shook his head. “Whatever. Look. . . the first thing we gotta do is get ourselves a Pantone swatch book. We need to figure out what the fuck all this color business is about. Plus a bookstore would be fun right now.”

Mickey snorted derisively. “We’re on molly right now, and you wanna leave the club to go to a _bookstore_? Aren’t we supposed to be extremely horny or somethin’? How does this work?”

“It works however we want it to work. I’m too amped up about all this shit to be horny. Although. . .” He adjusted himself in his pants, “I’ve still got a semi. It can wait though.”

“This will forever be the craziest attempted hook-up in our entire lives, you realize that right? We’re makin’ history right now.”

Ian almost gasped at how casually amazing the words falling out of Mickey’s mouth were, and he could tell he didn’t even realize that he was being slyly profound. A thrill ran through him as he thought about how it was actually the first day of the rest of his fucking life. This was one of those big moments that he could use to wipe the whole slate clean if he’d just let it.

Mickey met Ian’s eyes and once again felt startled by the openness they exuded.

“It’s gonna be a night to remember, alright.” Ian took him by the hand. “Come on.”

He led them out of the alleyway and glanced around, pulling his phone out to call the driver he had waiting. They kept walking down the street as they waited, so as to get away from the more crowded parts of the sidewalk, until the car came to a stop a few feet ahead of them, and Ian opened the back door, motioning Mickey in first.

“A hired driver and everything? Lah-di-freakin’-dah!” ribbed Mickey as soon as they were settled into the seclusion of the blacked out backseat of the large town car.

“I don’t usually have them unless it’s for something fancy, but tonight was on the studio. I was coming from a wrap party for the show I’m on. They usually dole out extras for company affairs. I’m kinda taking advantage a little bit, but I’ll tip well.”

“Back to your home, Mr. Gallagher?” asked the driver, in an accent Mickey couldn’t distinguish, as he slid back into traffic.

“Not quite yet, Armand, we need to make a pit stop somewhere. Can you look up the nearest open bookstore, please? Anywhere between here and the house is good really. I promise not to keep you much longer.”

“No worry, Mr. Gallagher,” he answered. It sounded vaguely Eastern European. “I am on duty tonight. I work, end of story.”

“I appreciate that,” Ian said, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder gratefully, then leaning back against the leather seat, focusing on Mickey once more, but not saying anything.

“Everyone call you _Mr. Gallagher_ , all formal like that all the time?”

Ian shrugged. “Most of the time, yeah. One thing I’ve learned since I got money is that rich people always get treated with respect just for simply being rich. And famous people. . . it’s like times one billion. It’s kind of disgusting, really.”

That made Mickey’s stomach unclench just a little. It sounded like Ian, at the very least, hadn’t grown up with everything handed to him easily. That meant that there was a chance they could maybe find some kind of commonality in their histories. Although, there was a whole lot of _in between_ involved in where Ian was now and where Mickey had been as a kid.

“So you weren’t always well-off then?”

“Not at all,” Ian confirmed. “Grew up poor as shit, actually. Chicago. _South Side_. May’ve heard of it? We’ve got great murder rates, not to mention our lesser crimes statistics really soar above and beyond.”

“Damn, so you just pulled yourself up outta the gutter and made it all the way to the silver screen, huh? That’s some old-fashioned American Dream shit you never see anymore.”

“Yeah, I know. I got lucky,” stated Ian, looking back out the window at the bright lights going by as he continued speaking. “Sometimes I feel guilty that I left the rest of my family behind. I got a lotta siblings. _Five_ to be exact, and uh, I just sort of ditched everyone when I turned 18, ran off on my own with all the savings I could muster from my underage jobs, _some_ more questionable than others. Ended up here, risking it all. Figured if it didn’t work out within the year, I’d drag my ass back and beg for forgiveness for being a defector. Luckily, I didn’t have to tarnish my image, and I was able to repay them in monetary ways they never dreamed of. It’s helped to heal the rift pretty well, seeing as, you know, poor as fuck people are always going to respond to lightening their burden. Sometimes it kind of feels like I’m just paying them off to stay out of my life, or something though. I don’t know why. I offered to move them out here, even though I really can’t afford all that quite yet, but I’d figure it out if they wanted it. I just. . . don’t see them ever not being _there_. It’s weird.” Ian looked back at Mickey, and seemed to snap out of his daze. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m rambling on about my family and my secret desire to shun them.”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“To be honest, I’m fuckin’ relieved to hear that you come from nothin’. Makes me feel better about my shitty family.”

“Well, I didn’t mention my parents for a reason. I didn’t even start touching on the bad stuff.”

“Look, there’s plenty of time to hear your fuckin’ childhood horror stories. Just be aware. . . mine will be worse than yours, guaranteed.”

Mickey’s mood wasn’t dimming despite the topic of conversation, which Ian was grateful for, but despite the casual tone of voice, Ian still felt compelled to say, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He let his hand creep closer to Mickey’s on the seat between them, until he’d taken it in his grasp, but he just looked back out the window at the neon signs decorating the cityscape, so Mickey followed his lead, oohing and ahing at how different it all appeared now. He was going to have to relearn the place he lived completely. He was going to have to relearn a lot of things about living his life, probably, if Ian was going to be in it now, all out of the blue.

“There is Barnes & Noble open until midnight. Five minutes away. You will have less than one half hour before close,” Armand informed, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Perfect,” said Ian. “That’s all we need.”

Upon entering the giant dwelling of full-priced books, they both stood agape in the glass-top atrium, eyes watering under the harsh, apparently soul-sucking light being radiated out of the high ceiling fixtures above them. Mickey hadn’t been aware that one could be assaulted thusly by a light source, and it was fucked up, but there were colors of all kinds _everywhere_ , and it was kind of overwhelming.

A bored-sounding young voice eventually broke their reverie. “Can I help you with something?”

Ian looked over at the tired-looking girl, “Yes. Please. Can you–”

“Lemme guess,” she interjected, “A _Book of Colors_?”

Ian smiled bashfully, shooting a sideways glance at Mickey. “How’d you know?”

“You’ve been standing there for like five full minutes with matching silent screams on your faces, crying. ” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Just a wild guess.”

She reminded Ian of his younger sister, Debbie, and her unearned bitchy teenage attitude about everything. It made him smile even wider, and the girl’s scowl only deepened in return. Mickey was pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and cheeks, mumbling, “Fuckin’ bright-ass light bulbs are the fuckin’ devil.”

“I think our eyes are just sensitive right now,” Ian rationalized, still looking at the woebegone girl. “A little overwhelmed over here.”

“That must be so great for you,” she deadpanned. “They decorate this place to impress the people stumbling in here to drop hundreds on color information. It’s pretty astounding how well it works.” She pointed directly at the right back corner of the store. “The section you want is over yonder. We close in 15 minutes.”

With that she sauntered away, sighing loudly and adjusting unruly tomes that weren’t fully fit into their designated displays.

“Little bitch,” Mickey hissed under his breath.

Ian sniggered lowly, but swatted him with the back of his hand as they moved in the direction she’d pointed them in. “She’s just a kid. Give her a break. I’m sure you were a little spitfire when you were that age.”

Mickey stopped dead in his tracks to bend over and hold his sides as he shook with laughter.

“What?” Ian asked indignantly.

“A _spitfire_? You watch a lotta old westerns, or noirs, or somethin’? You sound like an old-fashioned movie character.”

“Well, you got me there. I’ve always preferred watching movies intentionally shot in black and white, so I do like the classic Old Hollywood style. Never felt like I was missing out on anything when I watched ‘em.” His eyes lit up all of a sudden, like he was struck with a brilliant idea. “Oh. My. God!”

“Huh?”

“ _The Wizard of Oz_!”

“What about it?”

“The color thing! I finally get to see the color thing!”

“ _Okay_?”

Ian was looking at him expectantly, like this revelation had some bearing on Mickey’s capacity to give a shit. Mainly, he was still just fully confused.

“When she lands in Oz. . . and everything is supposed to switch. . . to full color! It was only one of the most groundbreaking films of all time! You’ve never seen it?”

“Did I mention the whole shit childhood thing yet? I thought I had.”

“But, Mick. . . this movie was on all the time! They always play it on holidays. It’s practically public domain! It’s so incredible. They have the best songs–”

“It’s a fuckin’ _musical_? No way. Nuh-uh. Not gonna drag me into that mess.”

“But Miiiick! It’ll make you feel like a little kid in the best way. It’s delightful! I don’t even care what you think about it, we’re getting the movie, and I’m gonna watch it, and you’re gonna sit there and endure it if I have to pull a whole fucking _Clockwork Orange_ scheme on your ass. Ooh! I wonder what Kubrick looks like in color. Holy shit! I have so many fucking movies to watch! I’m gonna have to quit being in stuff just so I can see all the things I wanna see.”

They reached the brilliantly colored corner they were aiming for and took in the substantial wall of thick, large hardcover books displaying color swatches. Ian, of course, picked out the most expensive one they had, which claimed to include the most amount of colors on the spectrum, and Mickey watched as his arm flexed under the weight of it as he pulled it from the shelf with purpose.

“Aha!” Ian exclaimed, pointing at a lower shelf a few feet to the left. “Thar she blows!”

He was indicating a copy of the old kid’s movie he’d just been extolling to Mickey, so the latter let out a big, heavy sigh and shuffled over to grab a copy.“You are super-lame,” he accused. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“Yeah, we’ll see, tough guy. You’re an undercover crier, I can tell.” Ian hip-checked him as he teased.

“‘Ey! Fuck off with that shit. You think I spent my nights in jail cryin’ in my pillow?”

Ian laughed. “I hope not, for your sake. But remember, I said ‘ _undercover_ ,’ as in _not obvious_. You don’t let anyone see you, but you do it every once in a while.”

Mickey wasn’t sure what continued to compel him to follow Ian around like he’d finally found his master or something. Was this weird? Was he acting weird? He felt pretty fucking weird.

Ian caught the grimace on his face as they made their way to the row of empty cash registers at the front. “You alright?”

“Feelin’ fuckin’ weird man. We need to get out of this glaring light and chill the fuck out.”

Ian placed a strong arm around his middle and pulled him close, kissing him on the temple, “Probly coming down from the chemicals in your bloodstream. It’ll be okay. My place isn’t far, and I’ve got dimmers installed on every light switch.”

When they arrived, Mickey did his damnedest not to look overly impressed with Ian’s place, but he couldn’t help it if his facade of indifference slipped just a little bit. It wasn’t a huge mansion or anything, but it was nice. It was one of those typical SoCal Spanish Colonials, unassuming and comfortable, despite the luxury evident in the interior design. 

Ian looked around and shuddered. “Gonna have to change all of this, huh? It looks so drab and boring.”

“You just see life as one big painting party now, don’t you?”

That gave Ian pause as he moved through the house, Mickey trailing in his wake, trying to absorb Ian’s interests where he could, and they almost collided as he replied, “Hmm, hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you mention it, we’re gonna need to go to the art store tomorrow!”

Mickey shoved at his back so he’d keep walking, apparently straight to the sizable, shiny kitchen. “You don’t even know what specific colors are called yet, and you already fancy yourself an _artiste_?”

“Who gives a shit what they’re called, Mick? We only need to know that for reference. The way they look. . . that’s what I’m excited about. From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t take talent to make something, you just do it. Who cares if it’s total crap? Point is that you did it, and it made you feel something, and you got it out of you.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure your low-key famous name will help you hawk that shit for thousands more than it would be worth if you were a nobody.”

“It won’t be for sale, asshole. I’m not brainstorming ways to scam more money off my connection or my color-sensing. It would just be for the experience.”

It appeared that Ian thought he could actually do anything and everything he set his mind to in life. Mickey usually despised those types of people with an ardent passion, but now that he was evidently _bound_ to one for the rest of his goddamn life, like it or not, he could appreciate the infinite possibility of such a life philosophy. He wondered if he would ever be comfortable enough in his skin to allow himself that kind of freedom. Because truly being free wasn’t something that Mickey had spent a lot of his life doing.

“How the fuck did _I_ end up with a creative type?” he mused aloud. “You might wanna reconsider me as an option if you care about that kinda stuff so much.”

Ian scrunched up his eyebrows, then his whole face. “Do I have a choice? Isn’t that the whole point of this mysterious soulmate shit? We’re meant for who we’re meant for, and there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s like inevitable. You and I part ways now, you don’t think we’ll just get drawn back together someday, somehow?”

“Fuck if I know, cupcake, you’re askin’ the wrong person.”

Ian’s face morphed into one full of adorable incredulity. “ _Cupcake_?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said with a lazy eye-roll and a snicker.

“I bet you’re kinda mad about all this, huh?”

“I think we already established that my main state of bein’ right now is just pure confusion.”

“So you don’t feel like something’s forcing your hand? Like you have no choice? You’re stuck with me and you can’t do anything about it?”

“Christ, if you want a lot of deep philosophical conversations about life, then I _definitely_ ain’t your guy, so I reiterate my earlier statement: May wanna reconsider your options.”

“Thought you said you love documentaries and shit? Doesn’t that mean you like to learn? And if you like to learn, what’s wrong with talking about the bigger picture sometimes? Especially on a night like tonight. We don’t even fucking know each other and yet we changed each other’s lives irrevocably. No matter what happens down the line, we can’t take it back or pretend it didn’t happen.”

“We’re still human, Ian. We still have free will. I’ve read enough to know that much. There’s always a choice. Even when it seems like there isn’t. Especially if you believe in String Theory and infinite alternate universes and shit.”

“You are _such_ a fucking smart nerd! Don’t play dumb with me, and stop trying to sell me on you not being good enough, just because we’re not exactly alike, or whatever. I don’t have any interest in dating a carbon copy of myself, and nothing you’ve said or done yet has dissuaded me. In fact, I think I like you more and more.”

Ian shuffled closer, and Mickey let himself be backed into the ledge of one of the many counters. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to get backed up against a lot of surfaces by the man in front of him over time. It already seemed to be a signature move.

Mickey gulped and averted his gaze, worrying his lip out of habit when he was wrestling with some form of internal debate. He wondered, now that they were 100% alone for the first time ever, if they were gonna have sex. Well, he was sure that they were gonna have sex at some point, obviously, but he wasn’t sure he could even do it right now. He wasn’t the type to get nervous about sexual encounters, so it felt foreign to him, but he had this giant ball of fear in the pit of his stomach: that to consummate this wildly unpredictable union would make it all too real. What’s worse. . . what if that reality was awkward? That was just another word for _bad_ when it came down to brass tacks. What the hell would they do then? There was so much at stake. So many things to consider.

Ian ran a soothing hand along his face and neck. “It’s okay. I’m nervous too.”

Mickey met his eyes again, noting their coloration for the first time. It was really pleasing. There were multiple shades in there converging together, and they were really mesmerizing. He wondered if everyone’s eyes were this pretty up close in full color.

“You have the most amazing eyes,” Ian said softly, lowering his lashes.

“Stop fuckin’ doin’ that,” Mickey countered much more quietly than he intended.

“Doin’ what? Paying you compliments?”

“Nah, readin’ my fuckin’ mind. You keep sayin’ the shit I’m thinkin’, and I’m about to lose it.”

Ian laughed softly and brought their mouths together again. “So tough!” he jeered, ruffling Mickey’s hair roughly and pushing his head away. “Shit, we’re so fucking stupid,” he added, smacking himself on the forehead. “We didn’t even stop to see what the fuck we look like ourselves.” He grabbed Mickey’s hand and marched hurriedly toward the nearest bathroom, pulling him in and flipping on the light.

Seeing themselves like that side by side was maybe the weirdest moment yet. They tentatively moved closer to the mirror above the sink, and Ian was the first to bring a hand up to touch himself, running the tips of his fingers through his hair, then making funny faces as he took in his lips, then his eyes. The eyes looked so fucking cool.

He averted them over to Mickey’s, watching him look at his own about a centimeter away from the surface of the glass.

“Your hair is so much darker than mine, but our skin is equally pale, and our eyes are both light, but the color isn’t the same.”

“Astute observations, Einstein.”

Ian ignored the comment and stepped behind him, converging their eye-lines in the reflection over his shoulder, while hovering lightly against his back.

“My freckles are darker than yours,” he continued unabashed, letting his chin rest in the crook of Mickey’s neck, “but your lips are just a little bit darker than mine.” He traced said lips with a forefinger, snapping Mickey out of his stupor.

“Okay then, cornball. You done?”

“Aw, come on, Mick. . . look at us.” He nodded toward their reflection. “We look good together, you know? We fit.”

Mickey couldn’t help but feel taken aback by that assessment. He genuinely didn’t know if he had it in him to feel on Ian’s level of attractiveness. He took in the angular shape of Ian’s face, compared to his general roundness of features. There was something kinda goofy about him, whereas he had no inkling of a doubt in his mind that Ian would look imminently hot even if he were lying on his deathbed, decaying from some form of freshly resurrected bubonic plague.

“We do?” he found himself asking anyway.

Ian squeezed him around his middle. “Definitely,” he whispered, and bit Mickey affectionately on the side of his jaw. “Come on.”

He dragged him out of the bathroom, steering them back into the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?” he asked, releasing Mickey’s arm as he stepped toward the huge stainless steel refrigerator. “Or eat? Or anything? Anything you want, I’ll get it for you.”

“Just water’s good.”

Ian pulled out two refillable bottles of water and handed one to Mickey.

“Let me guess?” needled Mickey as he uncapped it. “ _Cares about the environment and tries to be aware of his carbon footprint for the sake of the children_.”

Ian tittered and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m such a monster for trying to be a responsible adult with a brain.”

“Most people aren’t bad, just lazy.”

“Well, whatever, I can afford to not be lazy most of the time now.”

“Or pay someone else not to be lazy for you? That more accurate?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t have a cleaning lady in here everyday or anything.”

“Houseboy?”

“Fuck off!” Ian chided. “Let’s go look at that book, wiseass.”

A couple hours later found them lying with their heads close together, each taking up one side of Ian’s oversized L-shaped sofa, studiously absorbing the wide spectrum of hues they were newly able to perceive. While the rest of the lights around the house remained dim, Ian had dragged a tall, curved, standing lamp over so that it shone above the glossy pages of the book, and they could really see the vivid pigments in all their intensity. They kept making fun of one another because their eyes were watering intermittently from the intensity of the bulb’s brilliance.

“Nobody ever said shit about all this goddamn cryin’,” groused Mickey.

“It is a really unsexy side effect to such a romantic event,” agreed Ian.

Mickey snorted, meeting his eye. “You think this is _romantic_?”

“I mean. . . yeah? Isn’t it? We’re soulmates, asshole.” He nudged him with his forehead. “How is that not the very definition of romance?”

“You’re right, technically, it’s just this whole fuckin’ process makes no sense. I mean, it’s _supposed_ to be romantic, but we haven’t even known each other 6 hours yet. I haven’t even seen your dick, you know what I mean?”

Ian cackled right in Mickey’s face. “Is that what you’re worried about? If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’ll have any complaints.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“That right?”

Ian shrugged. “Been told a few things over the years regarding size and skill. Let’s just say the reviews consistently hit all the marks.”

Mickey licked his lips, sticking the tip of his tongue against the corner of his mouth for a moment as he pondered what resided in Ian’s snug pants and the things it would end up doing to him. He’d felt big against his leg, back at the club. “You a top then, stud?”

“Usually. I’m down to switch it up now and again, though. I’m gonna assume that the fates would never be so cruel as to make you anything other than a bountiful, bossy bottom?”

It was Mickey’s turn to laugh right in Ian’s face, the warmth of his breath coming in gasps against his cheek. “I’ve been known to enjoy the receiving end.”

He could feel his face heating up at the admission and he wasn’t quite sure why. It’s not something he was embarrassed about. Not in a lot of years, anyway. But at the same time, it was something he had kept well-hidden in prison, because he may be a bottom, but he would _never_ be anyone’s bitch. He’d always see to that, no matter what, or die trying. Maybe it was a reaction to the lack of control he had as a child and all the shitty ways his father had made him feel like a weak-ass little nothing at will, but it was important to him never to be under anyone else’s thumb like that ever again.

“Hallelujah!” Ian proclaimed, and Mickey pushed him into the cushions.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Aw, Mick,” Ian teased, booping him on the nose, “you’re blushing!”

“I said shut up, green eyes.”

“I still can’t tell if they’re really green. They have blue too.”

“And little flecks of brown. But mine are bluer than yours. Mine are blue, and yours are like everything, but mostly green.” He yawned widely and closed his eyes, stretching his back and neck.

Ian took that as his cue to hop up from his prone position and extended a hand. “Come on, sleepyhead. We should probly hit the hay. It’s almost 3 A.M.”

Mickey eyed the proffered hand warily, wondering if being in bed together was a good idea if he was gonna actually refrain from fucking him at some point in the wee hours. Ian noticed his hesitancy and let his hand drop for a moment.

“No funny business, we’ll just go to bed. I thought maybe we could wake up and watch the sunrise though? It’s supposed to be really pretty. We can go outside by the pool. I have a killer mountainside view.”

He presented his hand one more time, and this time Mickey took it without protest. He was being so ridiculous about all this. Why wouldn’t he fuck Ian? The whole point of even talking to each other in the first place had been to hook up. If their completely unforeseen connection had never happened, they would’ve already banged hours ago, most likely. They may have even been on round two or three by now.

_If_.

But what happened, _happened_ , and he just felt like his mind would be too overwhelmed to really enjoy the experience. His brain was too burdened.

Still, he followed Ian up the stairs, and he definitely paid attention to the breadth of his shoulder span, and the way his ass sat nicely curved away from his lower back, the hem of his tee shirt clinging at his waist. It wasn’t at all that he wasn’t attracted. He was sure he could easily get hard again if he even just watched Ian move around long enough. That wasn’t the point.

The master bedroom was nice and roomy, but not overwhelmingly so, just like the rest of the house. It didn’t feel impersonal the way a lot of expensive, overly-spacious places often felt to him. The California King sized bed looked extremely inviting.

“I feel like everything in here needs way more color now, don’t you?” remarked Ian as he turned down the beige comforter and sheets.

“You’re still high on your new eyes. Chill on it for a minute before you hire a crack team of interior decorators.”

Ian regarded Mickey tentatively as he contemplated disrobing for bed. Specifically, he paused in the act of undoing the front of his pants. “You mind?”

“Not like I’m some blushing virgin, dude.”

“Yeah, but you obviously changed your mind about wanting to fuck me tonight,” he pointed out.

Mickey exhaled audibly and ran a hand over his face. “I know I did. I’m sorry about that. I know it’s kind of fucked up of me, since I basically told you I wanted to bang back at the club, and I rubbed my dick on your leg and everything.”

“I don’t mind, trust me. Kinda been thinking that for the first time in my life I should maybe keep it in my pants and _not_ put out on the first date.”

An unintended ripple of self-doubt coursed through Mickey at that, and he tried to stop the question from escaping, but failed. “Why’s that?”

Apparently, Ian was already an expert at reading him, because instead of slipping his pants off, he closed the distance between them and laid one of his big hands on Mickey’s shoulder, squeezing his way up from his bicep to his tense neckline.

“You have to know that it’s not cuz I don’t want to. Did you already forget the way I blatantly checked you out and hit on you at the club?” He stepped closer, pulling Mickey in by the hip with his other hand. “Or the way I shamelessly rubbed my cock on you in the middle of the dance floor?” He snaked that hand down to Mickey’s ass. “Or the way I squeeeeezed this cushy ass?” He emphasized his words by repeating the action, then slipped his tongue out to lick at Mickey’s soft, rosy-colored lips. “We’re meant to be together, dummy.” He kissed him tenderly and wrapped his arms around his upper body in a tight embrace that was slightly stiff on Mickey’s end. His return grip was tenuous at best.

Ian pulled back to look at him once more. “See, I don’t want it to be awkward. When we do it, I want it to feel–” he broke off with a sigh and a mirthless, stuttered laugh, “this is gonna sound really lame, I know, but. . . I want it to feel special. Like tonight was. I know it’s been fucked up, and crazy, and confusing as shit, but it’s still once in a lifetime. We’re never gonna get it back.”

Mickey let out a long breath, and took a step back to unbutton his shirt. He felt so much relief hearing Ian say all these things as if he were living inside of Mickey’s brain, but was armed with way better coherence and a capacity for releasing the thoughts with an impressive degree of eloquence he usually seemed to lack. “I want it to be good too,” he stated simply.

Ian gave him a slight nod and a quick quirk of the lips and pulled off his shirt for the second time that night. Mickey drank him in as they simultaneously worked on their pants, moving his focus from the deeply carved muscle of his torso to his creamy, powerful thighs, standing out in stark contrast to his black boxer briefs. He was really good about not staring at the prominent bulge inside, which he fleetingly pondered should get him some kinda medal.

He knew he had to be fuckin’ crazy to not just jump Ian’s bones then and there. He couldn’t for the life him really justify waiting for the right _feeling_ to click when he looked at the man in front of him in nearly full glory. How the hell was he even supposed to know what it was he was feeling? He had no frame of reference. This sudden need to attach meaning to things he didn’t normally regard as particularly meaningful was some next level crap he never thought he’d be perpetrating.

“So. . .” urged Ian.

“So. . .” echoed Mickey.

“Bed then?” he turned and climbed up on the mattress, stretching his legs beneath the covers, but refraining from pulling them up.

Once Mickey had slipped into the linens on the other side, he helped Ian raise them up to their neck line, and they paused to watch each other for a moment, unsure of what else to say or do now that they were all bundled up in close proximity, the total vulnerability of sleep right there lurking around the edges.

“LIGHTS. OUT.” Ian stated in a crisp, clear voice, and the lights in the room all turned off.

Mickey let out a snort of derision. “Really, Gallagher? Robot lights?”

Ian giggled back. “Only you would call voice-activated switches ‘ _robot lights_.’”

“If you’ve got that shit all over the house, how come you were hittin’ switches when we were downstairs?”

“This room is the only one wired for all the tech bells and whistles. I didn’t want it all around the house, because I don’t wanna be one of those assholes that relies on the newest conveniences to do everything for them. But in here, it can be kinda cool not having to worry about all that. It works with the sound system too, and a couple other things it might be more fun to just spring on you when you’re not expecting it.”

“You’re an evil genius,” Mickey mumbled into the darkness.

“So, uh. . .” Ian started, moving his left hand under the covers so that it came to rest on Mickey’s smooth, flat, firm stomach. He felt him shiver at the contact, which made Ian’s breath hitch. “Can I spoon you, or is that over the line?”

Mickey chortled again. “Line? What line? We never established a line.”

“Um, we clearly established a line. We said we weren’t gonna fuck yet. I know that holding you against me isn’t sex, but you know, I am but a mere mortal man and there’s a pretty good chance I’ll get hard against you at some point, and you know, it’ll be like _right there_ , so if that prospect is too much for you, then I guess that’s why I’m asking.”

“Holy shit, if it’ll get you to shut your goddamn trap, you can dry hump my crack while I sleep for all I fuckin’ care. You just ain’t gettin’ any participation outta me tonight, okay?”

Mickey grasped Ian around the back of the hand, clutching at him roughly, and he twisted his body so that he was facing away from Ian, who could now fit his bigger frame around him. _Of course_ it felt completely amazing, and pure, and all things that are good, and while Ian relaxed into him, he felt his body let go as well.

Before he drifted off, he did feel the brush of Ian’s lips to the back his neck, and he could’ve sworn he sensed him inhaling the smell of the skin there.

“‘Night, Mickey,” he whispered.


	3. Brief Hours & Weeks

The following few days were a whirlwind of activities the likes of which Mickey Milkovich had never partaken in. Ian was so hyped, it was almost exhausting, but it was also highly infectious, and not in a bad way, for once.

True to his word, Ian had set an alarm that Saturday morning and gotten them up at an ungodly hour to watch the sunrise over the valley below, the distant outline of the mountains barely visible through the city’s dense smog. Mickey had made fun of Ian for not waiting to do this somewhere more worthwhile, but they were honestly both so excited to see the _actual_ color of the _actual_ sky, they could barely muster the energy to bicker or tease.

When the horizon did start lightening and the sun was peaking out, Ian almost missed the whole thing, because it was so hard to tear his eyes away from the radiant smile on Mickey’s face. In the end, though, the shifting colors of the sky managed to pull his attention back, and he was pretty sure his own smile was just as big and toothy.

After sitting in deck chairs for a while with goofy grins on their faces, Mickey finally grumbled, “Can we please go the fuck back to sleep a while now?”

“Sure,” conceded Ian, reflexively grabbing Mickey by the hand as he moved to rise. “But, when we wake up. . . Will you stay? I mean, would you mind spending the day with me? Or two? Or three?”

Mickey bit his lip, and gently pulled his hand out of Ian’s grasp. Sleeping a few hours hadn’t really clarified anything in his head. Yes, Ian was obviously great, and frankly he was a little worried that he was _too_ fucking good. So far, he hadn’t seen much in the way of flaws, and that was its own brand of unsettling. Then again, there had to be _something_. He probably had a shitty temper when things didn’t go his way, or some secret weird fetish that was just a little bit too far outside the box. Or, this could all be a careful facade and he was really a greedy, pompous jerk-off that would eventually end up boring him to death.

Mickey knew they couldn’t control the connection between them, but he still wasn’t sure what the baseline of normalcy for all this was. Should he stick by Ian’s side as much as possible and force the relationship to happen? Or was it better to let it breathe a bit for now and see if they could individually wrap their brains around it all before they started pushing themselves together?

“Look, it’s okay if you need space,” Ian continued, “but I’m of the mind that we should just get to know each other now and say fuck it. We can figure it out together. But I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna do, so if you want me to give you a ride home at any point, just say so.”

After a pause, Mickey met his eye again. “I’d usually go to work later on, so I’ll have to call my boss and see if I can take some time. It’ll probly be fine, though. My sister’ll start blowin’ up my phone if I don’t call her at some point too, and if I tell her anything about this, she’ll just inject herself into the middle of all of it, and I don’t think you wanna deal with that right now.”

Ian smiled. “So you will?”

“I’ll give you a couple days,” Mickey shrugged. “Not like I can’t get away if I want to, killer.”

“Good!”

Ian shot up and pulled him back to bed, where they both struggled to keep their dicks under control, and mercifully fell back asleep for another few hours.

Around noon, Ian had stuck to his guns and dragged Mickey to the art supply store. It had ended up being impressive, though, and he started getting low-key excited about Ian’s whole silly plan to paint canvases. He’d probably just end up slathering different colored paints onto the white cloth haphazardly, and call it done. It would be cool just to stare at all the vibrant hues. Plus, Ian told him that you could actually mix different tints together to make new ones, and that sounded fucking crazy.

Ian ended up going all the way fucking out, and bought a tube of every color of the recommended acrylic paint brand the girl in the shop gave them, 2 large standing easels, way too many paint brushes, considering they didn’t even know the functions of the odder looking ones, and a bunch of other random things she said they’d need, like palettes, and spatulas, and brush cleaning supplies.

They spent all the daylight hours making terrible art outside in Ian’s humble landscaped yard, then jumped into the deep end of the lap pool as soon as the light had faded enough to switch on the pool light, which forced the water into yet another shade of blue. Ian was thinking it was probably his favorite color. Some shade of blue. Ian had made to go commando, but Mickey didn’t wanna risk seeing Ian’s dick just yet, so he’d flat out refused to go skinny-dipping for the time being. He was trying to maintain control and resist the temptation of Ian’s sculpted physique. It was hard enough with just his upper half on display.

At some point in the day, Mickey called Mrs. Feng and after not so subtly reminding her that he’d never before taken so much as one sick day since he’d been in her employ, he’d asked if he could take a few days for personal reasons, reassuring her that it wasn’t due to anything bad. He’d even gone and promised to _explain_ the next time he came in. He knew he technically had no obligation to tell her anything, and that he could have feigned an actual illness or something, but it was hard for him to lie to her, and he wanted to explain himself more for personal reasons, rather than professional ones. He knew she was going to be happy for him.

A little later, he’d gotten like the sixth text that day from his sister, which read: ‘ _If you’re alright, then you better fucking message me back, asshole. I’m about to start calling jails and hospitals._ ’

He sighed in preparation, lit a cigarette and pressed call. As soon as Mandy had heard the words, ‘I’m fine,’ she’d unleashed an unrelenting tirade loudly into his ear, so he’d pulled the phone away and opted to take a few drags while she yelled at the air. Ian noticed and chuckled. Once the shrieking came to a halt, he brought the phone back to his ear and calmly explained that he was with someone, and he’d be home in a couple days. That had led to even more shrieking, except this time she was extolling her delight, and he had to bring the phone away from his ear again. Ian looked over and laughed again, so Mickey flipped him off. He finally managed to get her to shut up and said he wasn’t getting into it over the phone. He’d explain more later. Then she’d jumped to the conclusion that he was trying to pull some shit on someone, and he had yelled, “It’s not a fuckin' con! Jesus! I will tell you more later. Goodbye.” And he hung up and tossed the phone onto a nearby cushion, shaking his head.

Ian had been busy painting with a bunch of greens and purples, listening in on what Mickey was saying to his sister. He debated whether he should bite the bullet and call his own family now, but he was kind of enjoying being in a bubble. A few days to himself was no big deal. He definitely wasn’t ready to tell his fucking team yet. His team who consisted of two people, but his team, nonetheless. He absolutely, positively wasn’t ready to say anything to Karen. He would continue to take his week of no obligations to tend to himself, and now Mickey was a part of all that. A part of his life. A part of _him_. That sounded crazy, but it was kind of the truth.

After the sun went down, they ordered take-out and Ian insisted on watching _The Wizard of Oz_. He even insisted on running a digital camera to record their reactions. Mickey tried to give him a lot of shit about it, thinking it would make him too self-conscious to even pay attention to the stupid old movie, but Ian refused to budge. By the time Dorothy opened her front door and stepped out into Munchkinland, Mickey was so absorbed, the fact that he was being recorded wasn’t even on his radar anymore. Ian played the video back later, skipping forward to a time mark near that scene, and they laughed until they had tears leaking from their eyes, because they looked like small children taking in the happiest show ever made. “Ooh, look at the big, tough man hating every minute of this dumb idea that was foisted upon him,” Ian teased, but Mickey couldn’t even pretend to get defensive about it. Instead, he flipped him off and tried taking jabs at Ian’s dopey doe eyes, but in the end they’d ended up sounding more like compliments, because his expression was honestly kind of adorable.

Mickey asked if they could watch a nature documentary after that, but before they could even press play, they’d ended up wrestling around on Ian’s big couch, and making out a bunch. As they got more into it, Mickey had dazedly skimmed a hand down to a dangerously low area right above the waistband of Ian’s loose shorts. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so it wasn’t really Mickey’s fault that he kept feeling up on his muscles. But Mickey slipped the hand just below, and it was right _there_ lightly stroking at his pelvic bone, and Ian’s involuntary reaction was to groan sexily and shove his large hand down the back of Mickey’s borrowed sweats to knead one bare ass cheek in his palm. Mickey gasped, emitting a little whine that was unnatural to his own ears. He was so fucking close to just breaking their whole deal and ripping Ian’s remaining clothes off so he could ride his big dick right then and there on the sofa.

Luckily, he snapped out of it. He gave a little chuckle against Ian’s mouth, and pulled away, reaching back so he could gently remove Ian’s hand from its cupped position on Mickey’s ass. Ian apologized and Mickey brushed it off, and they disentangled their limbs and put a bit of distance between themselves on the couch. Then Ian put on an episode of _Planet Earth II_ and their minds were being blown all over again. They ate more food, drank a few beers, and passed out on the couch after marathoning a few episodes back-to-back.

Seeing all those amazing landscapes and wild animals in high definition color like that had really inspired Ian, and he had even been entertaining the idea of just saying fuck it all and booking them an African Safari like for tomorrow, but Mickey had used his level head to temper that whim. He’d reminded him about how they were supposed to take it slow, so Ian had conceded the point and agreed they should probably make the right kind of plans for a monumental trip like that, and agreed to keep the flurry of activity he insisted on restricted to the Greater Los Angeles area.

That’s how they’d ended up with a full Sunday of diversions that Mickey had always associated with children and never actually partaken in himself. Ian was appalled, yet ecstatic, that he’d get to introduce him to all these genuinely new experiences. It made them all feel even newer to Ian too.

They started out at the Griffith Observatory, and Mickey was so thrilled with the planetarium show that he’d almost offered to blow Ian in the bathroom. He was starting to really feel the build-up in the intensity of emotion caused by all these big new happenings. He’d kept himself under control, though.

Then, because they couldn’t take off on a proper African adventure the way Ian dreamed of doing, he took Mickey to the Los Angeles zoo, which just so happened to also be next to the aquarium.

By the time they’d gotten back to Ian’s that night, they were physically and mentally exhausted. Ian couldn’t believe how fast this was going, but he couldn’t bring himself to slow the pace. He already considered it a herculean feat that they hadn’t violated their ‘no sex’ policy yet. He was having the time of his fucking life with this guy, and it was starting to make him horny as hell. Eventually, he’d excused himself to take a shower and jacked off briskly and effectively over the shower drain before washing himself. He was pretty sure Mickey was completely attuned to the fact that he’d relieved himself of his tension, if the knowing little smirk on his face was any indication when Ian had emerged fully clothed downstairs. He was also extremely positive that Mickey had done the same when he’d gone to shower himself about a half an hour later. He had a kind of swagger that hadn’t been there before he’d gone in, and it was very attractive, to say the least.

While they’d been out that day, they’d inevitably run into some people here and there who recognized Ian. And while most people in L.A. tended to let celebrities be, a few came up to request pictures or autographs, or just say a quick compliment and ask for a hug. Mickey had been a little weirded out the first time it happened, because in all honesty, he’d completely forgotten that Ian was even famous. They’d spent so much of their time immersed in their own little world, Mickey hadn’t really had a chance to let it all sink in. Sure, Ian talked about work here and there, but they had only really scratched the surface of personal stuff so far, and Mickey wasn’t sure of the extent to which his daily life was affected by frequent recognition and attention in public.

As the day progressed, he’d gotten more used to the whole thing and found it amusing, if mildly annoying.

Ian was a little apprehensive about how Mickey would react to the side effects of his minor celebrity, but he’d relaxed when Mickey never responded poorly to being approached, and hadn’t yet questioned him about it. It was a huge relief, because the last few years, Ian had been so involved in the industry that he rarely hung out with people outside of it. He didn’t really have anyone close to him that wasn’t somehow connected to the film business, outside of his family, and they would always know the real Ian, and were proud of his success. He hadn’t met a civilian, as it were, that he’d ended up spending any significant amount of time with since he could remember, so he didn’t typically have to do too much explaining or apologizing for strangers’ behavior toward him.

Now he would be expected to groom Mickey to match Ian’s lifestyle, which was intended for a steadily increasing upward trajectory over the next handful of years, if the current plan panned out. He had enough projects lined up to be highly hopeful that he could hit all his goals. But he honestly didn’t know if he wanted to do that to Mickey. He was already used to the man’s rougher edges, and he really liked how they were so different in a lot of ways, but still somehow got each other. Their rapport was easy, despite whatever circumstances they were in or traits they possessed that seemed like they should clash. The last thing Ian wanted to do was try to turn Mickey into something that he wasn’t or didn’t want to be. He hoped to get him on board with Ian’s goals, sure, but he couldn’t be selfish about it and make everything about him, either. It was so confusing trying to factor in a person he’d only known for a couple of days. Whoever invented this soulmate shit was a complete twat.

Monday was to be Mickey’s last day off, so Ian of course scheduled a jam-packed day of impressive outings to keep them high on life.

At last reality intervened, however, when Ian’s phone vibrated in his pocket as they made their way through the MOCA in the early afternoon. He excused himself to take the call, leaving Mickey to continue through the exhibit on his own. It was a trip. Mickey hadn’t set foot in an art museum ever before in his life. He didn’t really understand most of what he was seeing; wasn’t sure if there was supposed to be a point to most of the more abstract stuff, but the colors wouldn’t stop failing to impress and draw him in anyway. He’d thought that the stiff silence of the open spaces dotted with people milling around in studious contemplation would bug him, but it was kind of soothing in a weird way.

He was so absorbed in the large canvas in front of him, in fact, that he started a bit when Ian approached him from behind, pressing a hand to his lower back and sighing heavily.

“Bad news,” he said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Mickey’s ear. “I gotta go to New York in like a matter of hours.” Mickey’s eyes shot over to meet Ian’s gaze. “Some fucking re-shoots needed for this guest spot I have on a cable show. Apparently, they had to re-write some shit to accommodate one of their leads. I can’t really get out of it. I have to be there by tomorrow morning.”

Mickey tried to act casual, even though an alien sense of dread was seeping into his stomach at the thought of going their separate ways. He raised both eyebrows. “Oh?” His voice sounded weird and he hated the uncertainty evident in it. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two days on set, so I could be back by Thursday,” Ian looked at his feet, “but my manager is trying to get me booked on a late night show, after hearing about a cancelation through the grapevine.” He looked up at the painting in front of them. “If that happens, then I won’t be back until Friday. Possibly Saturday?”

Mickey nodded dumbly. “Back to reality, I guess.”

Ian studied Mickey’s face, and grabbed his hand, squeezing it and stepping closer to talk into his ear again. “Can’t wait to be back, though. I don’t wanna go at all, but I have to. I’m contractually obligated. I promise to make it up to you.”

Mickey huffed a laugh at Ian’s dramatics. “Ain’t nothin’ to make up, man. It’s not like you planned on meeting me.” He turned away and pulled Ian into a slow stroll, letting go of his hand as casually as he could, unused to the open show of affection, and unsure how he felt about it. “Was probly lucky we met when you were supposed to have time off, right? Normally you would’a been too busy to even do half the shit we got into, I bet.”

“I mean, I do work a lot, but I have downtime too. Getting unexpectedly called away like this isn’t very common. Most of the time, my schedule is pretty set months in advance. It can take some adjusting to though, I guess, if you’re not used to it. Never had to really factor anyone else in before.”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” Mickey asked dubiously, shooting him a look.

Ian shrugged. “No. Didn’t really see the point.”

“Just cuz of the soulmate thing?”

“Not just that. I’ve been busy with my career, and not really interested in distractions. Maybe if the soulmate thing didn’t exist I would’ve tried, I don’t know. Before I came out here, I wasn’t really out back home. I mean, my family knew for a couple years, but I kept everything else on the down low. Didn’t help that I mainly fucked older closeted dudes with wives.”

Mickey snorted and butted him with his shoulder, “Scam anything good off ‘em?”

Ian grinned. “Wouldn’t call it scamming, really. They offered me the gifts, I never asked for ‘em.”

“Yeah, right. You better’ve gotten some primo shit if you had to gargle old man balls.”

“Hey, you’re gonna have to get over that one day, tough guy, cuz I hate to break it to ya, but my balls are gonna keep aging right along with the rest of me. Deal with it.”

He pushed Mickey away playfully, and walked ahead of him, making his way to the exit. After a beat, Mickey was able to pick his jaw off the floor and follow his lead.

Mickey lit up a cigarette as soon as he was outside the building, and Ian indulged a few drags as they headed toward their parking space.

“I don’t have a whole lot of time before I have to be at the airport,” said Ian, approaching the car, “so I should probly drop you home now. I’m basically just gonna pack and make some calls before I head out.”

Mickey took a deep lungful of smoke and shook his head as he exhaled it. “You don’t gotta worry about that, man. I’ll just get a Lyft or somethin’, that way you don’t have to go so far outta your way. It’ll take you forever to get me to my place. It’s past where you live.”

“Deep in The Valley, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Alright then, just come back to my place and you can take a ride back to yours on me.”

“You don’t –”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to,” Ian interrupted, opening the driver’s side door. “Let’s go.”

Soon enough, they were awkwardly standing in front of one another in the foyer of Ian’s home, trying to figure out how to part ways for the first time.

Ian unleashed a nervous flutter of laughter and pawed at the back of his neck as he took Mickey in. “So, I guess I’ll catch up with you in a few days, huh?”

“Guess so,” answered Mickey. “You gonna tell anyone?” He motioned between the two of them.

“I don’t think so. I kinda wanna hold onto it a little longer until I wrap my head around it a bit more. Plus, I’m not risking Svetlana hunting you down to huff, and puff, and blow your house down while I’m away.”

“Risking a Svet-what-a to do what now?” Mickey furrowed his brow.

“My agent. She’s Russian. And maybe a little batshit crazy. I don’t want my manager, Veronica, telling her about you while we’re gone. Vee’s coming with me, and her and Lana are married, see? Can’t say something to one without the other finding out, and if she’s left here in town by herself and hears about it, there’s no telling what the hell she’ll do to try and figure out who you are.”

“That sounds. . . kinda fuckin’ nuts.”

“It can be. My life.” He stepped forward and Mickey let him crowd his personal space. “Just think about it while we’re apart, okay? We can talk more about everything when I get back. I know we haven’t really figured anything out. I just. . . it’s been really great getting to know you, and seeing the world in this new way together. It’s been incredible, really. Let’s not let our lives complicate that. We’ll learn how to have it all, okay? Even if that takes some time?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mickey agreed, focused more on the way Ian looked rather than the words coming out of his mouth. He was trying to keep his face imprinted on his mind for as long as possible. His phone pinged, indicating his ride was there. In the end, he’d insisted on making his own way home, and wouldn’t let Ian get a driver on his dime. “That’s me, I guess.”

“‘Kay,” Ian stated softly, smoothing a hand over Mickey’s cheek as if they were in some big, dramatic farewell scene at the end of a weepy film. “Nice meeting you,” he added with a cheeky smile.

It broke the tension just enough for Mickey to let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, you too. It’s been, uh, _interesting_.”

Ian snorted. “Well, we’ll have to do better than _that_.” And then he was kissing Mickey again. They hadn’t really done that today. It was long and firm, but not deep or heavy. Then Ian pulled him in close for maybe the most satisfying hug of Mickey’s life.

Oddly enough, Mickey felt himself holding on tight, with his face pressed into Ian’s collarbone. He may have even _sniffed_ him a little bit. What was _that_ about?

His phone pinged again.

“Alright,” said Mickey with a hard clap to Ian’s back, before pulling away. “Gotta go, before this fool up and leaves without me.”

“See ya,” replied Ian with a small wave.

Mickey opened the door to let himself out and could feel Ian watching him as he made his wayto the gate, but he didn’t pause to look back, afraid that if he did, the uneasy feeling in his stomach would corrode into pure dread.

Even though it was a good 40 minute drive to get back home from Ian’s, it felt like the time flew by, he was in such a daze. He watched the city roll by out the window, cringing slightly when he’d become aware of the shitty world music the driver was playing, completely at a loss as to how he could just be expected to go on with his life as if the rug hadn’t just been fully pulled out from under him.

The car he and his sister shared custody of was parked out front of their building, so Mickey knew to expect an onslaught of Mandy as soon as he walked through the door. He steeled himself as he unlocked both bolts, and let his keys clatter loudly on the entryway table as he made his way toward the living room, kicking off his shoes, then diving into the inviting shade of maroon that their couch apparently was.

He only had his head on a throw pillow for about half a second before he heard the rapid patter of feet creaking the hardboards from down the hallway as they neared. He pried the eye not buried in the pillow open, but only saw a blur as Mandy launched herself onto his back, straddling his waist and pressing him into the couch.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been? And don’t even try to bullshit me even a little bit. I’ll know.”

He immediately began trying in vain to buck her off of his upper body, and/or land a hit on her by swinging up his feet from behind him. Alas, he wasn’t a fucking ballerina, and couldn’t manage to bend his legs far enough up from his position to really do anything remotely efficient.

“You better get off me, bitch. Your profession gives this body hold you have on me slightly disturbing connotations that I’d rather not think about.”

Mandy made a noise of disgust. “You are so fucked up.” She punched him in the back of the shoulder. “I’m not domming you.”

It was Mickey’s turn to give a grossed out grunt. “Don’t ever say ‘domming you’ ever again to me, or I’ll toss you out the window.”

“We’re on the ground floor, buttmunch. It’s like a 4-foot drop.”

“I’ll find a taller building and throw you out of a window there, now get the fuck off me!”

Mandy relented, but also kicked him in the ass upon rising. “Fuckin’ tell me! Spill! What the fuck, Mickey!”

He sighed deeply and lifted himself from his restful position to sit back into one corner of the sofa with his legs crossed and folded in front of him. They stared at one another momentarily, before Mickey motioned to the other end of the couch with his head. “Sit down, then, nosey. It’s a fuckin’ doozy.”

Mandy exhaled audibly and tossed herself onto the free cushions. “Shit, Mickey. What the fuck did you go and get yourself into now?”

“It ain’t like that. It’s. . . it’s nothin’ bad. It’s actually really good.”

“What do you mean? Are you going back to pulling jobs again? Because I told you, I can be persuaded–”

“No. I told you it wasn’t that. It’s not about money.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Well, maybe it’s a little bit about money, but that’s just incidental.”

“Jesus Christ, Mickey, will you please just spit it out already! Where have you been since Friday night?”

“I told you, I was with a guy. His name is Ian.”

“Okay. Ian. And?”

“And. . .” he gulped thickly, and wasn’t sure if he could get the rest out. Once he said it out loud to someone else, that was it. “And. . .” Why was this so difficult? It already happened, he was just copping to it. “And. . .”

“And, and, and, WHAT?” Mandy hollered exasperatedly, throwing her hands up.

“AND HE’S MY FUCKING SOULMATE, ALRIGHT?”

He hadn’t meant to yell it out like that, but he couldn’t refrain from being pushed to Mandy’s shrill decibel level. The sight of her being shocked into silence was rare, but he could tell whatever she had pictured him saying, this hadn’t even been a blip on her radar.

“Your. . .” she drifted off in her astonishment, and her whole demeanor softened along with her tone. “You kissed him?”

Mickey nodded. “Yeah.”

“And it happened?”

“Yeah. It did. Just like they said.”

“ _Colors_? You’ve seen _colors_?” She looked more in awe than he was used to.

“Seein’ ‘em right now, dumbass.”

But she didn’t snort, or yell, or hit him, she just continued passively sitting there, rendered uncharacteristically speechless by his confession.

“That’s not even it, though,” he continued. “There’s kind of more to it than just that.”

“ _More_? What the fuck _more_ could there be? Color isn’t enough?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “I didn’t exactly choose who the fuck I was gonna connect with, did I?”

“Wait. So he has money?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking askance. “He’s also maybe a little bit famous.”

Mandy sat up tall and straight at that, eyes wide. “A _famous_ dude? You bagged a fuckin’ _famous_ dude?”

“Apparently. How ironic is that shit?”

“WHO! Who is it, Mickey? Tell me right now, or I swear to god. TELL ME!”

“Ian Gallagher. He’s from that show you watch.”

Mandy gasped. “Ian. . . Ian Gallagher! IAN GALLAGHER!” She was bouncing around on the couch, inching closer and closer to Mickey, a wild grin on her face, as she moved to shove, poke, and pinch at him.

He couldn’t help but finally let loose a smile. “Yeah. Ian.”

“Holy shit, Mick! Fuck you!” She punched him in the thigh this time, and he yelped and pushed her off. “I didn’t even know he was gay! This is so beyond unfair!”

“Quit actin’ like a little brat! You wanted to know. Like I said, I didn’t fuckin’ choose him, he just happened.”

“So you’ve just been spending like this entire long weekend, holed up at his place, fucking in full technicolor?”

Mickey blanched. “Not exactly. We were kinda runnin’ on this crazy high of emotion or some shit, like with the color thing. No one ever explained how it really effects like _everything_. It’s fuckin’ crazy. We spent all our time doin’ shit. Shit I never done before. Date stuff. We, uh, didn’t actually have sex.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Yeah. We decided to wait, cuz we were too freaked out.”

“Freaked out? What the fuck, Mick? You had a chance to bang a smokin’ hot, rich, famous, actor guy, and you let it slip through your terribly tattooed fingers?”

“He’s my soulmate, bitch. Ain’t like I can avoid him. He had to go to New York for a few days, but maybe when he gets back. . . I don’t know. I need to fuckin’ think. My head’s been clouded with all the overstimulation.”

“Holy fuck, Mick. I can’t believe it.” She sat back looking stunned. “Things are gonna change, aren’t they?”

Mickey met her eye again. “Yeah, I think so.”

“So what’s it like? Color, I mean.”

He shook his head and shrugged, but couldn’t temper his smile. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I guess that’s why it’s hard to get the details before The Change happens. It’s so fuckin’ cool, though, Mands. It amplifies everything by like a thousand. I wish you could see it.”

“Yeah, me too,” she retorted sadly.

“You will one day. I fully fuckin’ believe that now. If it happened to my idiot, unlovable ass, it’ll happen to you too.”

“Pssh. When? I’m ready whenever the fates, or the gods, or the universe in whatever form decides to let me catch a goddamn break for once.”

“Maybe Ian’ll let you kiss all his friends, and you can start a process of elimination.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, cuz that’s how it fuckin’ works.”

“Whatever, it’s gonna happen. When you least expect it.”

Mandy eyed him a little more tentatively, before lowering her gaze and asking, “Do you love him?”

She looked surprised at Mickey’s serious answer. “Nah, I don’t love him.” He paused. “But I feel like I _could_ love him. Or more like I _will_ love him. It’s weird. Can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“No, I think it makes sense. I mean, maybe if you’d known each other first, but you just met, so it’s like trying to fall in love with a stranger, because you’re supposed to.”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel obligated. I could just go steal all his shit while he’s away, and we could move to another fuckin’ country and never see him again, but I don’t want to. I wanna know him, and be with him, because it feels right.”

“Damn, Mick. . .” she was looking at him like she’d never met him before in her life. “That must’a been some kiss.”

Mickey arched an eyebrow and snickered.

Tuesday finds Ian working with a renewed vigor he hadn’t been anticipating. He found that even the grumpiest people on set couldn’t shake his good mood. He coasted along the entire day on his wave of euphoria, and Vee was looking at him funny by the end of it.

“What the hell has gotten into you? I thought you were mad you had to leave your little stay-cation bubble yesterday,” she pried as they walked towards the truck that would take them back to their hotel in Midtown.

“Guess I’m just happy to be on this project,” Ian brushed her off.

“Mmhmm, well I know you enjoyed the role, but you didn’t express this much enthusiasm for it during the main shoot.”

“I can’t show some newfound inspiration? I’m just happy. Is that okay?”

Vee glared at him with suspicion. “I guess.”

Wednesday passed much the same as Tuesday had, except that by the end of the day, Ian felt like he was bursting to tell someone all about the big news he was still struggling to process. He was lying in his hotel bed, practically vibrating with pent up energy. Since he still didn’t want to tell Vee and Svetlana, and didn’t feel like getting into the whole thing with his family yet either, that left him with one viable option.

The dialing tone rang six times, and Ian was sure it was about to go to voicemail, when she finally picked up with a brusque, “What?”

Ian huffed a laugh. “Karen, you can’t stay mad at me for being called away to do re-shoots. If it had been you who got called away, _on contract_ I might add, I wouldn’t blame you for it.”

“Whatever, dickbreath, why are you calling me?”

“I have some news. Big news.”

“Oh, holy shit, please don’t tell me you got that _Star Wars_ part.”

Ian snorted. “I fuckin’ wish. No. It’s personal.”

“Personal? What, did one of your sisters get knocked up again, or something?”

“Nope. Per-son-al, as in _me_.”

“You? Your ‘personal’ is the grayest shit to ever gray.”

“Actually, it’s not. It’s not gray at all.”

Karen seemed to understand what he was saying, if the sharp intake of breath that could be heard on the line was any indication. “Not gray? Ian, no!”

He smiled widely. “Yep. It happened. It fucking happened.”

“What the fuck! When? How? WHO?”

“Friday night, at that club I went to. I kissed him on the fucking dance floor, and we were rolling, and it was fucking amazing. You don’t know him. He’s not in the industry or anything. He’s so _not_ L.A. and I love it. He’s just a regular guy.”

“A regular guy? Like. . . a _poor_ guy?”

Ian tittered. “Only you would give a shit about your soulmate’s finances over the fact that they are your fucking soulmate.”

“I never said that, and I am not the only one who would care. Ian, you’ve been around rich people long enough to know how they feel about the poors. They wanna donate money very publicly to show how much they care about them, but keep a 20-foot unbreachable perimeter for all the normos that may actually cross their actual paths.”

“Oh please, you think there aren’t plenty of people who fabricated the backstories for their partners? Soulmates don’t get paired off based on any quantifiable criteria, Karen. The Connection doesn’t discriminate between classes, races, religions, or anything else.”

“Yet you both found each other in the middle of L.A. That was just coincidence?”

“No. It wasn’t. That’s what I’m saying. Neither of us are even originally from California, but we each managed to end up there. I don’t know how it works, I mean no one does, but somehow if you’re meant to meet, it works out so that you do. Why can’t you just be happy for me? Why are you already trying to ruin it?”

“Look, leave the melodrama to me, why don’t you? I’m not gonna ruin it for you. I want you to be happy, but I mean. . . who the hell _is_ this guy, you know?”

“Oh, so you would trust him with me if he had at least a certain amount of money in the bank, but since he doesn’t, he’s automatically untrustworthy swine? You think I’d be forever linked to some good-for-nothing asshole?”

“No! It’s not an affront to you. I’m just saying you should be fucking careful. I know you’re not Leonardo DiCaprio, but you still need to watch your back with this shit. People love to target the wealthy. I mean, what do you really know about him?”

“First of all, I’m not wealthy. I’ve still got a pretty tall ladder to climb before I could claim that. You’re wealthy. I used to be just one of those normo poors you’re talking about, and there’s nothing fucking wrong with it. It doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re such a fucking snob.”

“Well, excuse me for basing my advice in reality. I’ve been taken advantage of. I know what that’s like.”

“Oh please, why don’t you go sue your parents again, you fucking spoiled brat!”

He hung up on her, frustrated with the lack of support, and seething at the accusatory nature of her response. He should’ve fucking known better. What a terrible choice for the first person to tell. He sighed loudly, and scrolled around on his phone until he pulled up his text thread with Mickey. It wasn’t very long. He’d sent a few small updates on what he was doing, and informed him that he would indeed be staying to do the late night guest spot on Thursday. Otherwise, he’d mustered up the courage to send goodnight ‘I miss you’ messages both nights before bed.

Mickey’s replies were always clipped and simple, but that was okay. Just knowing that he was out there, alive and doing stuff, made Ian feel better.

> **Ian:** About to go to sleep. What’re you doing?
> 
> **Mickey:** Drinking beer. Watching TV.
> 
> **Ian:** National Geographic?
> 
> **Mickey:** History Channel.
> 
> **Ian:** You’re so lame.
> 
> **Mickey:** Fuck you, too.
> 
> **Ian:** Maybe someday soon.
> 
> **Mickey:** Better. I haven’t even jacked it once.
> 
> **Ian:** Really? Weird. Me neither.
> 
> **Mickey:** Don’t wanna waste another boner without me?
> 
> **Ian:** Hadn’t thought about it. Is that your reasoning?
> 
> **Mickey:** Maybe.
> 
> **Ian:** I told Karen about you.
> 
> **Mickey:** And?
> 
> **Ian:** She’s being a huge bitch, but she’ll get over it. At least your people are happy for us.

Mickey had gone back to work at the shop the previous day, and Mrs. F had given him a wide berth at first, but also kept a steady inquisitive eye on the back of his head anytime she was up front. It was like a silent pressure being exerted from her laser gaze. Finally, he’d let out a big sigh and turned to look her dead in the face.

“I got color, alright!” he exclaimed out of the blue.

She gasped in shock and muttered something in Mandarin that he obviously couldn’t understand. He’d tried to learn a little bit of the language on Duolingo a few times, out of curiosity, but that shit was too damn hard. It had no basis in western language that he could relate it to, and he’d be damned if he was gonna learn to read, let alone write in some new insane alphabet that looked more like artwork than actual words. She rarely busted out the old tongue in his presence, but when she did, it was still pretty fascinating to him. The way the sounds fit together was so baffling. A part of him kind of thought that anyone raised on Asian languages and texts must be more intelligent than the rest of the world, because learning that shit in elementary school had to have been a giant bitch and a half.

“Well. . . this I was not expecting,” she finally replied in English.

Mickey wiped a hand over his face, “Yeah, me neither.”

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t.” He paused, worrying his lip and glancing off to the side. He was pretty sure she knew he was gay, but he’d never really said it to her outright. She just seemed to see everything about him in a freaky way that he felt somehow grateful for. “I just met him on Friday night.” He looked back up to gauge her reaction.

She didn’t flinch, recoil, or miss a beat in any way. “You kissed a stranger?” She tutted a few times, then reached out a hand to cup his cheek. “Have I taught you nothing?” She then smacked him with the same hand, but it still came off as affectionate.

He chuckled and dipped his head again. “I didn’t kiss him, he kissed me. But anyway, that’s where I’ve been the last few days. We were tryin’ to get to know each other. There’s a lot I haven’t said, yet, though.”

“Show me,” she demanded, gesturing with her hand.

“Show you what?”

“His picture. You must have at least one.”

Mickey sighed and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his image gallery, and showing her the sappiest picture he’d ever taken in his entire life. It was of the two of them in front of a large aquarium window with a school of colorful-ass fish swimming in the background. They were smiling like idiots.

“Very handsome!” she praised, causing Mickey to blush slightly. “You’re worried he will care about the prison time?” She handed the phone back and he locked the screen, pocketing it.

“I don’t know. I mean, I told him I used to be a thief, and he knows I’ve been to jail before. I didn’t give him a whole lotta details, though. He doesn’t know I’ve only been out less than a year.”

“You aren’t going to lie, are you?”

He shook his head. “No. I ain’t gonna lie, but. . . he’s kind of a big deal guy. He has money and everything. He’s an actor. He’s gettin’ more and more famous everyday from what Mandy told me. Worried about how this could possibly even work out.”

“Do you like him?” she asked.

“Well, yeah. I like him a lot. He’s pretty great.”

“Well, then, you already have my story beat. I couldn’t stand my husband when we first met. I knew him for years before he managed to wear me down. I only went on a date with him, because my family practically forced me to. I wasn’t showing enough interest in men, and they were very strict and traditional. I did it so they would see me trying, and leave me be. We didn’t kiss for the first time until months later. My feelings were slowly softening, but it was still a shock when the world lit up with life around me as our mouths fit together. I couldn’t believe it. This boy I had grown up thinking beneath me was The One. Life is a mystery.”

“You ever regret it?”

Mrs. Feng was still married, but her husband was in bad shape. He suffered a stroke a few years back, and was bedridden at home. Their daughter was the primary caregiver on most days. Mikey knew it couldn’t be easy to see someone you love go through that, and then depend on you to keep them alive, because they couldn’t do it themselves anymore.

“Never,” she stated firmly, and reached up to pat his cheek again. “You’ll be okay.” She walked out from behind the counter and set off down the middle aisle to retreat to the office in back once more. “I expect to meet this man soon,” she added without turning to spare him another glance.

Mickey texted Ian as soon as he heard the door close: ‘ _Mrs. F approves._ ’

Ian was so happy that Mickey had told his sister and his friend about them, and that they had supported him. He’d hoped it would help soothe Mickey’s evident unease about their new relationship. He was particularly excited to meet Mandy, and see if maybe she was more open with information than Mickey liked to be. He didn’t wanna go behind his back or anything, but if Ian were to get along with Mandy, maybe he wouldn’t really have to do much prying. Maybe she’d just say stuff that would fill in some of the blanks.

He spent Thursday morning shopping with Vee on 5th Avenue, managing to come across the perfect gift for Mickey. As an afterthought, he’d asked her to pick out a nice, colorfully patterned women’s scarf for Mandy while they shopped in their respective sections of Saks. He’d fibbed and told her that he needed a gift for a friend’s missed birthday.

After that, it was time to head over to the theater where they filmed the Late Late Show, so he could get ready and prep for the short interview to be taped in the late afternoon. He was the second guest, and found out that Jake Gyllenhaal was the first, which he was pretty stoked about. He’d never met him before, and he was hot as fuck. Didn’t matter if he was straight, and Ian was now taken, he could still look.

He told Vee to tell the producers he didn’t want any questions regarding color, or relationships. She gave him another one of her patented ‘Are you out of your goddamn mind?’ looks, asking him to explain without words. He’d never set any off-limit topics before when interviewed. He knew she was growing more and more suspicious by the day, because she was like a goddamn psychic or some shit. Any tiny changes in the atmosphere could set off her alarm bells.

“Just feeling a little sensitive about it lately, okay? I don’t wanna be put on the spot about that shit right now, so just please. . . make sure it doesn’t come up.”

“You talked to Fiona lately?” she asked, still using her incredulous tone on him.

“Couple weeks ago,” he shrugged, helping himself to the fruit platter in his dressing room. “Why?”

Veronica Fisher had been his next door neighbor back in Chicago for most of his life. She was best friends with his big sister, Fiona. The year before Ian had left for California, her soulmate, Kevin, had died unexpectedly. He’d been caught in the crossfire of a drive-by on his way home from work, and it had devastated all of them, but of course Vee more than anyone. She’d slipped into a clinical depression and checked herself into a hospital for a while. When she’d returned, she’d wanted out of everything. Out of her house, out of the ghetto, out of Chicago completely.

It was Ian who brought the idea of Los Angeles to the forefront of her mind, and one afternoon a couple months after he’d left, she’d shown up on the doorstep of the shitty studio apartment he was renting month-to-month, with three large suitcases, declaring herself his new talent manager. He’d been completely taken aback, but she’d pitched herself and convinced him that experience or not, she’d get him an in with Hollywood if it was the last thing she did. It was as if she were looking to channel her future hopes into him, and of course, that sounded fucking great to Ian. The idea of having someone he knew to support him in a place where he didn’t know anyone was monumentally helpful. He owed her so much.

“Cuz you’re actin’ squirrelly as fuck, and if you ain’t gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, then at least call and tell _her_ ,” she answered, crossing her arms and staring him down pointedly.

“You’re being paranoid. I’m fine. I’ll call her when I get situated back home again, okay? Now, can you please make the stipulations I mentioned so we can get on with this?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed at him pointedly, and left the room.

Mandy stayed in with Mickey that night, so they could watch Ian on the Late Late Show for like a grand total of five minutes. She squealed and jostled Mickey around a bunch, a giant toothy smile on her face the whole time. She was way more into it than Mickey was, and she hadn’t even met the guy yet.

“He looks amazing!” she trilled, when he emerged from backstage.

That wasn’t an overstatement. Ian did look amazing in a burgundy suit over a black shirt with white polkadots, accompanied by his dazzling smile and flawlessly coifed copper hair, skin looking like pale porcelain. Mandy couldn’t even appreciate the shades he was rocking, but it made little difference. He was clean, pressed, and perfect, like every other shiny happy celebrity that sat in that seat.

Mickey barely paid attention to what Ian was saying. His mind was racing a mile a minute. The conversation was mainly focused on Ian’s television show, and he told some anecdote about meeting George Clooney on a yacht in Italy.

In what fucking universe did Mickey fit into this otherwordly image that Ian painted in bright HDTV?

The appearance seemed to be over as soon as it started, and Mandy started rambling again, making unsavory comments about Ian and that Jake Gyllenhaal douchebag to try and bait Mickey into a jealous state or something, but he didn’t bite.

“I can’t fucking _BELIEEEEVE_ that is your soulmate, you lucky son of a bitch,” she exclaimed, settling back into the couch cushions and taking a long swig of beer.

“I’m havin’ a hard time wrappin’ my own head around it, thanks,” said Mickey, reaching for the pack of smokes sitting on the coffee table, ready to head outside to their small patio and get his fix.

He really fucking missed smoking pot, and couldn’t wait for his probation to be lifted, so he could start hitting up legal dispensaries, and living like a true modern Californian. He was already in the clear for the MDMA from Friday night, since it stops showing up in urinalysis within a few days tops, but weed could still show up for weeks after just a few hits, and he couldn’t risk it. Testing was random, and he’d just had one a couple weeks ago, so he wasn’t too worried, since they were obligating him to submit less and less. Still, half of his mandated probation time was under his belt already. He was too close to being free and clear to fuck it up now.

“Yo!” Mandy cried, grabbing his attention before he could make his way outside. “We should take a picture and send it to Ian. Tell him congrats on the show or whatever.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Why?”

“Because it’s a nice gesture, fuckhead. C’mere.”

“Mandy, it’s 3 hours later on the east coast. He taped that shit hours ago, and he’s in the middle of goddamn R.E.M. sleep.”

“So what? He’ll see it in the morning, and it’ll make him happy.”

Mickey made a face at her, but finally obliged, letting her take like 5 different selfies of the two of them on their couch, before shoving her away and getting up to head outside.

“Don’t say any embarrassing shit in that text, or I’ll fuckin’ slit your throat while your sleepin’,” he threatened lightheartedly as he opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside.

Ian awoke Friday morning, and reached for his phone, turning off his alarm notification, and opening Mickey’s message first thing to find an image of him scowling with a pretty girl smirking over his shoulder. He assumed it was the infamous sister Mickey liked to complain about, but clearly had a lot of affection for.

Ian smiled as widely as one could so soon after rising, and read the accompanying text: ‘ _You looked hot as hell on the TV, baby boy. Congrats! You were super charming too. Can’t wait to meet you. Why are you with my brother? XOXO - Mandy_ ’

He waited until he was on his way to the airport later in the morning to call Mickey, so as not to rouse him at a completely unreasonable hour. Luckily, Vee had stayed behind for the rest of the day, and was catching a red eye instead, so Ian wouldn’t have to hide anything or deal with awkward questions when they arrived.

“‘Sup, Red?” he answered on the third ring.

“On my way back in a couple hours. What are you doing?”

“Just got to work a little while ago.”

“Can I come over to your place when I land?”

“Um, why?”

“What do you mean, why? I wanna see you, dummy.”

“So why can’t I just come over to your place when I get off work? I’ve got a car.”

“Maybe I’m too anxious to wait that long. Maybe I wanna see your place. . . meet your sister. . .”

“My place ain’t nothin’ to write home about, and my sister really ain’t either, to be honest.”

Ian chuckled. “Come on, Mick. Let me in.”

Mickey sighed audibly over the line. “What time do you get here?”

“Land around 4 pm, but I gotta sit in traffic on the way from LAX, so I’d say 5:30ish if I’m lucky.”

“I was gonna stay ‘til close tonight to make up for missin’ those days, so I won’t even be there ‘til like 7:30.”

“Will Mandy be there?”

“Probly. She usually heads out around 8 or 9 and takes the car, but I’m not sure. Just go back to your place and wait for me.”

“Miiiiick, I’m gonna go hang out with your sister for a bit, okay? Text me your address.”

“Ian.”

“Mickey.”

“Why you wanna meet my sister so bad?”

“Maybe I just wanna talk to someone who knows what the fuck is going on with us and feels happy about it. I have to meet her sometime, right? Maybe it’ll even be better without you there glowering at us.”

“You don’t know my sister, man.”

“I know she sent me a cute picture and text late last night from your phone. I think I’ll be okay.”

“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”

“What’s the big deal, Mick? I’ll be at your place waitin’ for ya after a long day at work. How does that sound like a bad thing to you? If you’re worried about your place, don’t be. I’ll show you pictures of my childhood home, okay? I’ve seen it all. My bed was practically a glorified cot throughout my teens. My tall ass didn’t even fit on the mattress anymore. Text me your address.”

Another loud huff. “Fine.”

Ian smiled. “See you later, then?”

“Yeah, I guess, asshole.” Mickey chuckled.

“I can’t wait. Bye, Mick.”

“Later.”

As soon as Mickey ended the call, he dialed Mandy’s cell. Bitch was still sleeping, but he kept at it until she finally picked up.

“WHAT?” she howled gruffly.

“Ian’s comin’ over,” he said, cutting to the chase.

That got her to perk right the fuck up.

“Oh my god! WHEN?”

“Gets in around 4, but has to get through rush hour, so expect him any time after 5. I ain’t gonna be home yet. Make sure everything is clean and presentable, and don’t fuckin’ tell him any shit that’ll make me look bad. Or else.”

She snorted. “Shut the fuck up. I’ll tell him whatever I see fit to tell him. Need to get a read on him, don’t I?”

“Look, just don’t embarrass me, okay?”

“Why do you keep telling me that? If you didn’t humiliate yourself with him, why would I, douchetard?”

“Just promise to be on your best behavior, alright? Fuck!”

She heaved a heavy sigh. “I fucking promise, you moron. I know how to talk to rich guys, alright? It’s like half my damn job description.”

“Don’t remind me. And don’t fuckin’ tell him what you do, for chrissakes!”

“Oh my god, I’ll tell him if I feel like telling him! I’m not gonna let you lie to him about who we are. That’s bullshit, Mickey. If he’s as great as you’ve described, he won’t be a sliver as rude to me about it as you always are.”

“I’m not gettin’ into it with you about this right now. Just. . . just help me out here. You know this whole thing is freakin’ me the fuck out. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Yeah, alright. I told you I got it. Now, hang up the fucking phone and do your job. I’ll warm your boyfriend up for ya, and maybe he’ll finally bone your pasty ass.”

“Fuck off,” he said, and ended the call before she could respond.

He took a deep breath and texted his home address to Ian, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t live to regret it.

Sometime around 5:20, Ian was dropped off curbside in front of an olive green stucco fourplex with a well-kept front lawn and hedges hiding the lower walled patios of the ground floor. He smiled lightly and made his way to apartment B, dragging a small rolling suitcase behind him, a garment bag slung over his shoulder, and his carry-on in hand.

He’d barely set the smallest bag down, fist halfway to the door, when it swung open wide, and a beaming brunette was screeching, “OH MY GOD!” and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

He huffed a laugh out over her head, and returned the embrace as well as he could, with his free arm around her middle. “Nice to meet you.”

She let go of him, and stepped back to peruse his frame from head to toe, not saying anything, but whistling in that cliche catcall tone.

Ian chuckled again. “Uh, right back attcha. Mind if I set my stuff down somewhere?”

“Shit, sorry! Of course! Please come in.” She rushed behind him to grab the small bag on the welcome mat, and he entered the foyer, looking around.

He wasn’t sure why Mickey was so worried about him seeing it. It was a nice, normal place. Nothing fancy, but certainly no sign of anything he should feel uncomfortable about Ian seeing. It was clean and uncluttered, unlike his childhood home.

“You can throw it all in Mickey’s room if you want. It’s the one at the end of the hall,” she urged, gesturing with her chin.

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing the last bag from her and making his way down.

Mickey’s room was sparse, but he had a queen sized bed, which Ian noted would work just fine. He hung his garment bag up over the closet door, dropping his carry-on beside a dresser, and flung the suitcase on the bed, so he could get out his gifts before he forgot about them.

“You want a beer?” Mandy hollered from the other room, as he rifled through his things.

“Sure!” he called back, finding both gift wrapped boxes underneath two layers of clothes. He set them aside on the bed, and put everything back so that he could set the suitcase up against the wall by the door, out of the way.

When he returned, Mandy was standing expectantly in front of the couch, barefoot and holding a can of beer in each hand.

“Brought you a little something from New York,” he said, exchanging Mandy’s box for one of the beers, and taking a swig.

She gasped and bent down to set her drink on the coffee table. “For _me_? Really? Why?”

Ian snickered and shrugged his shoulder, “Just wanted to get you a little something.”

“But you don’t even know me,” she chastised, rolling her eyes, and ducking her head. It reminded him a lot of Mickey. “You barely even know my idiot brother.”

“Not yet, but I will.”

She looked up at him again through her lashes, seeming almost childlike in her wonder, and he could see the fragility there underneath the surface. “God, I can already see how you swept him up in all of. . .” she gestured at him in a circular motion with her hand, “ _this_.”

Ian smiled. “You gonna open it or what?”

He made his way around the other side of the table, and set Mickey’s box down on the end, sitting back on the sofa with his arm draped over the back as he sipped more beer and looked on. Mandy shook her head in disbelief and sat down on the other side, turning to face him, with her legs up on the cushions.

“Saks!” she exclaimed once the wrapping paper was removed and the logo on the box showed. She opened the lid, and gasped again. “It’s beautiful!” She shot him a look, and touched the scarf with her fingertips. “And soft!”

Ian knew she couldn’t see color yet, because Mickey had filled him in on that one detail at least, but that had been the reason he wanted to get her something with a lot of different hues and patterns on it. In grayscale, it would at least look really intricate and pleasing. She could wear it over one solid color and it would work with almost anything.

He laughed at her again, because she wasn’t even making a move to take it out of the damn box. “Here,” he said, reaching over and pulling it out for her. He unwound it and leaned in to wrap it around her neck, as she moved her hair up and out of the way, fanning it over her forearms. “Looks great. You like it?”

She shot up to her feet and jogged down the hallway, into another room. “I love it!” she cried, then jogged back and flung herself down again. “You have great taste. Again, _why_ are you with my brother exactly?”

Ian chuckled and settled back into the corner of the couch again. “He did tell you that we’re soulmates right? I mean, he told me that he told you.”

“Yeah, I get that part, but like, you could have anyone. Why would you want _him_? Who cares if he’s supposedly _meant to be_ with you. I mean, what do we even really know about all that Connection B.S. anyway, hmm?”

He tittered again. Mandy was definitely a trip. “Maybe you’ll feel differently once it’s happened to you. I just. . . don’t feel like I want anyone else. I mean, really I haven’t even _had_ him, but you know what I mean. It feels right somehow. Can’t explain it.”

“Yeah, that’s basically exactly what he said, too. That you guys are like in _pre-love_ or some shit.”

Ian almost spat out his beer, but nearly choked on it instead. He sputtered and coughed, and Mandy giggled, scooting forward to pat him roughly on the back. It was almost painful. She was stronger than her petite frame suggested.

“Fuck, can you not say startling shit like that when I’m swallowing a beverage, please?”

“Sorry, dude. It was an honest mistake. Wasn’t tryin’ to kill ya before you get a chance to consummate your Soul Bond or whatever.”

“Did he really say ‘pre-love’?” he asked when he was finally able to speak without a burn in his throat.

“No, but that’s what he meant. I asked if he was in love with you and he pretty much said, ‘Not _yet_.’ Same difference, right?”

“I guess so. I mean, that’s good to know.”

“What all has he told you?”

“I don’t know. A little bit, I guess. Not a lot.”

“But you know like who we are and everything? Who _he_ is?”

“I mean, I know you’re from Philly, and didn’t have much growing up. I know he used to make his living illegally and he went to jail for a while. I know he doesn’t like his. . . _your_ dad. I know he’s trying to stay on the up and up, but it’s hard and boring, and he’s frustrated because he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life. I know he’s smarter, and more fun and interesting than he thinks he is. . . more attractive, too. I know he talks a lot of shit about you, but he loves you and takes care of you as best he can.”

There was a momentary pause as they studied each other. Mandy looked slightly aghast.

“You got all that from Mickey in just a few days running around together in color?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. I don’t know if anyone’s ever seen that much potential in my brother before, like, _ever_. When we were kids, we just got treated like all the rest of the bad apples. Parents, teachers, neighbors. . . We’re not the people who get nice things, you know? We had some for just a little while, but we both ended up paying the price. Too steep, in the end.”

“He didn’t really mention you in terms of all that. I mean, he didn’t really explain too much in the first place. I didn’t ask much, cuz there were so many good things going on. Didn’t wanna make it heavy. You go to jail too?”

“Nah, I didn’t. I was in on it though.” She fixed him with an apprehensive look, as if unsure of how much she should reveal if they continued the conversation. “How much did he actually tell you, like, out loud?”

“That he used to con people. Steal their money. I gathered he picked up guys at high-end clubs a lot. Figured he used some extortion angle. You helped?”

She snorted derisively. “Not exactly. I was more than an accessory, I did the same shit as Mick. We took turns being the honeypot. Gays _and_ straights, and otherwise undefined; we never discriminated when it came to cold hard cash.”

“That all?”

“That was our biggest moneymaker, but no. We were raised pulling all kinds of scams on people, so we know how to do all the textbook shit. We’re good enough that we could get in with the right people and pull some really _for real_ big things, but Mick never wanted to take the kind of risks the truly big jobs can bring. I mean, what we got busted for. . . he saved me, but he still got 5 years. Out early on good behavior, so it only ended up being 3. If we’d been busted on something with a giant reward at the end, he’d have gone away for 20 easily, maybe more.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. You know he’s still on probation, right?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“He’s only been out 6 months. He’s got another 6 to go before he can even leave the state, or smoke weed, or get caught doing anything remotely illegal. He can’t even give up his shitty job at the hardware store. That okay with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I can help him.”

“Help him how?”

“Just, you know, stay out of trouble. Make sure he makes it through.”

“How come none of this scares you?” she inquired, eying him warily for the first time.

“You haven’t met my family. We weren’t. . . I mean, it wasn’t like a gang of crooks, or whatever, but we did what we had to do to survive. It skirted the lines a lot. I did some unsavory things when I was younger, and various siblings, parents, and grandparents have been in jail before. Nothing major, but you know, I lived in a poor, shitty neighborhood my whole life. Not a lotta room to judge people for what they feel they have to do to survive. Mickey doesn’t seem like a mean person. Said he never physically hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. I trust him, I guess. Why? Is that stupid?”

She let another snort escape. “Probly. But, I’m glad you don’t care. That was my main fucking worry when he told me about you. Couldn’t picture your type understanding about us.”

“Trust me, my life took a drastic 180 when I came out here. It’s like a second life or something.”

“And now you’re gonna give Mickey his own second life, I suppose?”

“That’s the idea. I mean. . . if he wants it. He can have whatever, I’m happy to share.”

Mandy snickered, muttering, “Jesus,” under her breath. She paused in thought as she took a long pull off her beer. “Ian fucking Gallagher, savior soulmate to my epic fuck-up of a brother. Who ever would’a dreamed up this shit?”

“Not I, but I kinda like it.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. The dumbass, thrill-seeking kid in you wants a bad boy to keep him from becoming just another boring, vanilla pretty boy decorating the Hollywood landscape.”

“Hey! I object to that characterization. You don’t know me like that.”

“Whatever, wonderboy, you’re cute, and you’re charming, but you’ve got about negative zero mystery surrounding you.”

“So you’re saying Mickey gives me mystery?”

“By the looks of it, yeah. I’m surprised your people haven’t been all over our asses yet.”

“I haven’t told them.”

“Why not?”

“Wanted to just be able to enjoy it for a minute without any pressure. This whole thing is fucked up and weird. We’re just trying to get to know each other. I can’t throw him to the wolves yet. He’ll never go along with any of it if it’s not done the right way.”

“What’s the _right_ way? Is there ever really one right way to do anything?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know fucking anything anymore. I’ve never felt more confused in my life.”

“Have you told _anyone_?”

“Just my friend, Karen. I’m gonna call my family on Monday. Then I’ll tell my manager and my agent. I just want one more weekend of peace.”

“Just please. . . when you tell them about him, if it doesn’t go well, just don’t fuck him over alright? I don’t think he could take that kind of rejection. Not from you.”

Ian shook his head vehemently. “I wouldn’t do that. I control my own life. I’m not letting anyone dictate how my relationship has to go. Fuck that. I’ll fire fucking everybody. I’ll quit my fucking job before I let that happen.”

“You sure about that?”

“100 and fucking 10 percent.”

Mandy let a tiny sideways smirk escape. “Good. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Shortly before 8 o’clock, Mickey approached his own front door with trepidation. He paused to gather his wits, hearing the din of raucous laughter within. The clarity was such that he could tell the sliding glass door was open, the TV prominent in the background. Ian appeared to be pleading with Mandy to turn it off. He smiled a little to himself, before sticking his key in the lock and entering.

Ian was lying halfway on top of his sister, as they wrestled around on the couch, giggling and seemingly fighting for the remote control grasped tightly in Mandy’s fist.

“You suck!” Ian yelled out, still not noticing Mickey’s presence.

“You suck more!” retorted Mandy.

Mickey cleared his throat loudly, tossing his keys on the side table, and allowing the door to slam closed with a bang.

“What the fuck are you two doin’?” he belted out, twisting the top lock and taking a few tentative steps forward.

“Mick!” exclaimed Ian, tossing his sister away from himself bodily and bouncing up off of the sofa, before bounding forward to reach out for him.

Mickey had no time to react before Ian’s large hands were enveloping the sides of his head, and Ian’s soft lips were pressing against his own, warm and inviting. He couldn’t resist melting into the sensation of it. Mickey’s hands came down to rest on Ian’s hips as he was walked backward into the nearest wall, pushed up against it in such a way that made him wish Mandy weren’t present. His hands snaked behind Ian to his lower back, where he could pull him closer to his body, as they moved their heads in complimentary ways, and made out a little, slipping just a bit of tongue in.

Ian pulled his head back finally, and gave him a couple more quick pecks, before saying, “Hi.”

Mickey laughed and smacked him on the chest. “Hey. I see you’ve become fuckin’ besties forever with my slut of a sister. Traitor.”

Ian’s smile was so bright it could re-blind the sightless. “I like her. She’s great. Reminds me a lot of someone else I know. You guys are like Yin and Yang.”

“Pssh, please,” Mickey said, pushing Ian away. “She’ll let her true colors shine through soon enough, and then you’ll see. She’s evil.”

“Well, maybe she’s my kind of evil. Come on.” Ian took his hand and led him into his own living room.

“‘Sup, douchebag,” Mandy said, smirking knowingly, complete with arched eyebrow.

Mickey finally noticed what was on the TV. Well, he wasn’t sure what the hell it was, but Ian was most definitely in it. It looked like some silly thriller, and he looked a lot younger and less filled out.

“You fuckin’ watchin’ yourself?” he asked incredulously.

Mandy cackled in delight.

“No!” replied Ian. “I’m trying to get this wench to turn it the hell off, but she likes messing with me. It’s all her.”

“Look how cute he is, Mick!” she called, pointing at the screen. “This movie is fuckin’ terrible, though.”

“Hey! That was a pivotal role for me, okay? It helped me secure the pilot for _The Manor_. They can’t all be masterpieces.”

“I’m just teasing you, jeez.”

“Turn it off!” Ian yelled, and jumped on her again.

“Alright children, can you please settle down? Dad’s had a long day,” Mickey said, retreating to the kitchen to grab a beer.

“Ew!” groused Mandy. “Don’t even put that daddy kink shit in my head with you two.” She shuddered in Ian’s arms, and he took advantage of her guard being down to finally rip the remote from her iron grip.

“Aha!” He quickly pressed the stop button, and buried the remote in the cushions behind him. “Victory!”

“You are such a dork,” she said, slapping him lightly on the cheek. She turned to Mickey as he walked back in guzzling ale. “Mickey, your boyfriend is an undercover nerd. He’s actually not cool at all.”

“Whatever, loser. Beat you fair and square,” Ian countered, sticking his tongue out.

Mickey planted himself in the middle of the two, falling back into the cushions, satisfied to be off his feet. “Consider yourselves separated.”

Ian immediately slid over so that he was leaning against Mickey’s side. He fit his right arm behind him, and rested his left hand on Mickey’s knee, rubbing it whilst whispering into his ear, “Hey Mick.”

“You said that already,” he replied lowly with a small smile, not looking in his direction.

Mandy huffed from the other side of him. “Ugh, here we go. I guess that’s my cue to make myself scarce.”

Mickey wasn’t about to object, but before he could quip something awesome at her, his eyes finally registered both the open gift box and the wrapped gift on the table in front of them, and he turned to meet Ian’s gaze.

“The fuck did you do?”

“Nothing much, really. Got you each a small token of my affection in Manhattan.”

“You were gone for like 4 days, man. That’s longer than the amount of time we’ve been around each other, you dolt.”

“So?”

He sighed. “Alright, what’d you get bitchface over here?” Mandy punched him in the shoulder as he leaned forward to pull the open box toward him and saw the expensive silk scarf inside. “Damn. Already trying to buy her off and get her on your side, huh?”

“He didn’t need to give me anything for me to appreciate him more than your miserable ass. Of course I’m on his side. Gucci is just a bonus.” Ian had the gaul to high five her over Mickey’s head. “See. Look at this dork-ass. High fivin’ me and shit,” she jested.

Ian laughed and Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you got somewhere to be?” he asked, raising his eyebrows up extra high on his forehead and looking at her in his most pointed manner.

“Yep yep.” She hoisted herself off of the couch, and disappeared into her room.

“Hope you didn’t get _me_ a scarf. I really don’t need one here.”

“Open it and find out,” Ian urged.

Mickey sat his beer down, and reached for the much heavier box. “Whoa. The fuck is in here, a buncha rocks?”

“Open it!”

“Can’t believe you had this shit wrapped,” he scoffed as he tore the paper off.

He opened the box to reveal an oddly shaped wooden cylinder with an elaborate opalescent inlay. “Yay, a giant wooden dildo that would never fit up my ass in a million years,” joked Mickey in a deadpan.

Ian sighed loudly. “Just take it out of the fucking box, asshole.”

He did. It looked kind of like a small handheld telescope, and he noticed a view hole at one end, so he pressed his eye to it.

“Holy shit!” he cried. There was a swirling, ever-changing pattern of colors floating around inside.

“It’s a kaleidoscope! Point it at a light source. It’ll get brighter.”

Mickey tilted his head up and to the side, toward the overhead light that was on in the entryway. “That’s fuckin’ crazy, man!”

“I know! When you twist it around, the liquid inside swirls together and makes all those different shades and shapes. I got one for myself as well. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Hell yeah. I wanna glue this thing to my eyeball. It’s badass.”

“Please don’t. I kinda like your face as is.”

Mickey turned back to Ian abruptly and set the kaleidoscope back in the box on the table. “Thank you,” he said genuinely, before latching onto Ian’s head and kissing him once more.

“Welcome,” Ian mumbled against his mouth, and pulled him closer so that he was practically in his lap. Mickey eased back for a moment, and Ian nipped at his full bottom lip. “Missed this lip,” he added, pulling Mickey in by his shirt until he was covering him and they were both sliding down into the cushions.

They resumed kissing, and Ian’s hands quickly found themselves groping Mickey’s pillowy ass. They stayed like that for a while, losing track of time. Mickey found his mind going hazy as he ran his hands over Ian’s broad chest and toned arms, occasionally making their way up so he could thread his fingers in that fiery red hair. He never thought he’d be so into this lip and tongue action. He hadn’t done much making out in his lifetime. He barely even kissed most guys to begin with, so he didn’t tend to get caught up like this. He usually liked to jump straight to the good stuff, which pretty much meant anything involving an orgasm. And even though he was beginning to suspect that Ian was possessed with some kind of magic, he was pretty damn sure he wouldn’t be able to get him off with mouth-to-mouth alone.

Not that his dick wasn’t responding, because it definitely was, and he could also feel Ian’s semi sort of doing that weird serpentine nudging as it danced around inside his pants. Suddenly, Mickey was hyper-aware of the amount of time that had passed since he’d last been fucked, and the thought only made him harder. Ian couldn’t let go of his ass, and it was starting to get to him. The steady squeeze and caress felt amazing.

Ian moaned underneath him, and Mickey knew he was a goner. He wanted to. . . he _needed_ _to_ do this tonight.

“Jesus Christ, you two!” Mandy’s voice cut through, like a bucket of ice water seeping into Mickey’s sex-fueled brain. “I haven’t even left the house yet!”

Mickey was close to jumping off of Ian and giving her a good haranguing before she left for the night, but Ian kept him tight right where he was, tangled up in his long limbs, intercepting the shots fired, before he could lash out verbally.

“Sorry, Mandy,” Ian called out over his shoulder. “It’s my fault. You look great! See you tomorrow?”

“If you’re lucky. Have fu-un!” she chirped, and mercifully left the building.

“Thank fuck,” Mickey muttered into Ian’s neck.

“So. . .” Ian was suddenly nervous.

“What?”

“You wanna?” He was pretty sure he didn’t have to elaborate.

Mickey raised his head and met Ian’s eye. “Do you?”

“Of course I do. Don’t know if I can wait anymore.”

Mickey leaned down and licked into Ian’s parted lips, humming as strong arms clasped tightly around his back, turning their bodies so that Mickey was wedged between Ian and the back of the sofa. The kiss became more forceful, and his hand found its way to Ian’s crotch, stroking at the hard bulge beneath his jeans. Ian pressed his thigh closer against Mickey’s own clothed erection, rubbing up and down, his big hands gripping Mickey’s head like a vice, his wide mouth engulfing Mickey’s lips sloppily.

With some effort, Mickey managed to shove Ian off of him enough to pant out, “Bedroom.”

Ian rolled off the couch in a highly ungraceful display, jumping up energetically, and pulling Mickey up by the arms, until he stumbled into him. He landed his lips on Mickey’s again as he manhandled him around backwards down the hallway. Mickey was already working on Ian’s belt and jeans. Once they were in the room, Ian allowed enough space to pull his shirt off over his head, as Mickey undid his own pants, his hungry gaze on Ian’s body as it was revealed section by section. The tip of Mickey’s tongue poked out between his front teeth, as he undid his button-down just enough to pull it off over his head the rest of the way, and kicked off his shoes. Ian was only in his boxer briefs now, tight and green like the color of his eyes.

Mickey barely got his fly open before Ian was kneeling in front of him, pressing feathery light kisses over his stomach as he lowered the waistband of Mickey’s pants and underwear enough to tuck under his balls; his erection springing up and hitting the underside of Ian’s chin. He smiled up at Mickey impishly, admiring his hooded blue eyes and all the desire radiating out of them, then ducked his head slightly to capture the head of Mickey’s cock between his lips.

Mickey gasped and steadied himself by placing a hand around the back of Ian’s head, where it met his neck, the other grasping onto the arm Ian was holding his hip with. Ian dipped his head a few times, and circled his tongue along the prominent ridge around the tip of his dick, then brought a hand up to stroke the shaft as he let him slip from between his lips and smirked up at Mickey again, mouth glistening with saliva and maybe a little pre-cum that had leaked from the slit.

He nosed around the base a bit, laving his balls a little ticklishly, all the while maintaining a slow and steady pace with his hand on Mickey’s hard-on.

“Fuck,” Mickey mumbled breathily, as he tilted his head upward, eyes shut in ecstasy.

Ian moved his mouth back to the shaft, bobbing down on it as he picked up the rhythm of his hand, until Mickey’s dick was slick with spit. Ian’s heavy breathing and obscene slurping seemed to fill up all the space inside of Mickey’s head. He needed to calm down or he was gonna blow, and he didn’t want to come like this on their first time together.

As gently as he could, he moved his hand from where it had an iron grip on Ian’s head, sliding it around to cup his cheek, pressing his thumb against Ian’s chin, silently imploring him to look up at Mickey’s face again. When he did, Mickey simply said, “C’mere.”

Ian bestowed a few more passionate sucks, before he let Mickey fall out of his mouth again, panting warm breath against his wet, sensitive crotch. The heat in his open gaze made Mickey’s asshole twitch in anticipation, and he longingly reached under Ian’s hairy armpits, and pulled him up to lick at his lips again. Ian took advantage and lowered Mickey’s remaining clothing to the floor so he could step out of them. Mickey slowly snaked a hand down from Ian’s neck right down the middle of his torso, past his sternum and his bellybutton, until he felt the edges of the elastic band of Ian’s underwear, and could wiggle his fingers underneath it until he was finally holding Ian’s big, throbbing cock in his palm.

Ian hissed and moaned around Mickey’s tongue as he was jerked off inside his shorts, moving his own hands down to grip at Mickey’s ass again. He prized the plump cheeks apart as he kneaded them, then pressed one hand into the dip of his lower back right between the dimples just so, then slid it lower into his crack, rubbing up against his hole and teasing it with the tip of his middle finger.

Mickey broke away from Ian and yanked his underwear down, tossing them across the room somewhere. He took him by the hand and brought him closer to the bed, climbing up on it, but motioning for Ian to stay put right at the edge.

Ian watched on with rapt attention as Mickey laid down on his back and adjusted his body, grabbing a pillow, shoving it under his head, and lining himself up right in front of Ian’s erection, looking up at him upside down. Ian gazed down into his eyes wondering what kind of porny shit he was about to experience. He thought he knew what Mickey was about to do, and no guy had actually done it to him before. It was one of those fantasies that popped into his head sometimes when he was masturbating without a visual guide.

Mickey’s eyes moved away from Ian’s to focus on the dick above him, and he moved his lips, tilting his head back and exposing his neck sensually, as he took Ian in his mouth, tongue sliding along the overside, rather than the under. Ian moaned, and brought a hand down to push against his dick and make it easier for Mickey to keep his mouth around it.

It was a struggle for Ian to keep his eyes open the more pressure Mickey applied on him, and the farther he slipped into his sinfully appealing mouth. His balls were hitting Mickey right in the face, but he didn’t seem to mind. He could hear him breathing loudly out of his nose, some strained humming mixed in. Finally, he brought his hands around to grip at the backs of Ian’s thighs, indicating that Ian could thrust forward.

He tried to go as slow as possible as Mickey took him in deeper and deeper, so fucking wet, and tight, and warm around Ian’s thickness.

Ian threw his head back for a moment and moaned loudly, as Mickey dug his fingernails into the skin of his inner thighs, and when he looked down again, he almost fucking lost it completely. Mickey had him all the way in, lips wrapped around the very base of his dick, and he could see the head hitting halfway down Mickey’s goddamn beautiful pale white throat.

He’d never seen anything so hot in all of his life.

“Holy fucking _shit_!” he yelped, reaching out to feel it; his cock inside of Mickey’s throat, sliding back and forth as the tight muscles of his esophagus constricted in waves around him. “You are so fucking amazing,” he praised, pressing gently for a moment, before pulling out.

Mickey gulped and gasped for air as Ian made his way around to the other side of the bed, grabbing Mickey’s ankles, and pulling him forward until he was at the opposite edge of the mattress.

“Lube?” he gasped out.

“Drawer,” panted Mickey, gesturing to the nightstand to Ian’s left.

Ian retrieved it quickly and set it on the bed as he stepped back in front of Mickey’s legs, gripping his upper thighs and heaving him up so that he was bent with head and shoulders down on the bed, legs draped over Ian’s arms, exposing the full glory of his ass.

Ian dipped his head down and immediately went to work opening Mickey’s hole with his tongue, lapping at and around it as Mickey groaned in pleasure beneath him. He was able to carefully bring one hand around to massage Mickey’s balls and perineum, using his thumb to nudge at his rim, prying it open little by little as he worked the tip of his tongue past the tight ring of muscle beginning to contract with his ministrations. He continued that way for a few minutes, then began feeling around beside Mickey for the tube of lube waiting. Easing his mouth away, he warmed some between his fingers, and pressed one against his hole.

Mickey moaned and writhed as the slick digit penetrated him, slowly building up a steady rhythm, then lightly tapping around to find his sweet spot.

“Fuck!” cried Mickey, and Ian smiled like he’d won some sort of prize, slipping another finger in alongside the first, pressing up against that tiny bump of a pleasure center inside of him. “Please!” he found himself fucking _begging_ out of nowhere. He didn’t know where it came from, but he had to have Ian in him properly right fucking then or he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

Ian didn’t need further goading. He lowered Mickey down gently and followed his movements up the bed, hovering above him. Mickey ran his eyes all over Ian’s unholy body, particularly distracted by the deeply carved lines of muscle forming a vee shape above his pelvis that naturally complimented the sight of his big pink dick. Mickey reached out to run a finger over it, and Ian’s abs trembled in response as he gasped out a laugh.

“Tickles,” he said, crashing his mouth against Mickey’s again and situating himself between his meaty thighs. He explored hungrily with his tongue for a moment, then pulled back, sitting on his haunches, spreading his thighs open, and pulling Mickey’s ass between them. “You ready?”

“Been ready,” Mickey affirmed, biting his lip in anticipation.

Ian smirked down at him as he pushed in, thick, and hard, and fucking perfect. Mickey exhaled roughly, moaning hotly as he adjusted to the sensation of being filled up. Ian grunted, keeping it shallow at first, letting Mickey’s ass get used to his size. Once Mickey started pushing forward to meet his thrusts, he began building up a faster pace, sinking in deeper and harder inside of him.

Mickey didn’t tend to fuck face-to-face. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d never banged a guy in any facing position before. He didn’t care about seeing anything, just the feel of whatever cock, or ass, or mouth had been pleasing him at the time. He found that he liked seeing Ian though, and fought to keep his eyes open when he could, reaching out to touch the ginger hair falling down over Ian’s eyes, resting his fingertips under that sharp-cut oblique muscle he already fucking adored. He felt so full and sensitive as Ian drove into him, deep and swift.

Ian watched Mickey lick and bite at his own pink lips, swallowing most of his pleased sounds down. That didn’t sit right with him. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he busted all of Mickey’s barriers down completely.

Taking Mickey’s left calf in hand, he placed it against his opposite shoulder, bending forward and twisting his own body to the right, hips still pumping into Mickey’s ass all the while. His right leg anchored in the same spot, he brought his left leg up over Mickey’s right thigh, instantly feeling himself slip almost impossibly farther into Mickey’s asshole.

“Holy _fuck_!” Mickey cried out passionately, finally letting loose beautifully loud consecutive moans that had Ian possessed as he pistoned at that sideways angle, holding Mickey’s leg against his shoulder, the other hand planted firmly on the mattress for purchase.

Mickey had never felt so fucking stretched before. It was almost overwhelming. He could feel _all_ of Ian _everywhere_. His right thigh was straining, and would probably ache for a few days, but it was worth it. Fuck, it was _part_ of it. The slight twinge of pain mixed up in all of it. He’d never been dicked down anywhere close to this good. Ian was like a machine, but sweatier.

Mickey’s prostate was throbbing and he knew he would come any second now. He glanced down at his dick, red and leaking, and so insanely hard. He fisted a hand around it, and a few furious pumps later, he was squirting jizz all over his stomach. Ian pulled up to watch the last of it, staring at Mickey’s pulsating hole and the way it enveloped his cock as he fucked him through the orgasm.

Mickey started shaking and hissing in an over-sensitized way that was super sexy, but Ian also recognized the discomfort in it, and took pity on him. He pulled out and straddled Mickey’s torso, jacking himself as he watched Mickey’s spent expression from where he lazily peered up at Ian with hooded blue eyes, and bit that fucking juicy bottom lip again.

Ian’s hand sped up it’s stroking. “So fucking hot,” he bit out between breathy little moans of pleasure.

Mickey ran his forefinger down through the cum on his skin and made straight for Ian’s asshole, rubbing at it a little as he moaned louder above him, then jiggling it in just past the knuckle. He pressed the digit to his G-spot from the inside, while pressing his thumb to his perineum on the outside.

“Fu-uck!” Ian yelled brokenly, and came violently across Mickey’s chest and neck.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, seeing constellations, rockets, and fireworks exploding to life behind his eyelids. His hand kept thoughtlessly milking his dick until every last drop seemed to be emptied onto Mickey’s skin.

He collapsed to the side of him, chest heaving, body damp with sweat; his whole essence thrumming.

Mickey’s legs felt like jelly and he was pretty sure his ass was gaping open still.

“You okay over there?” Ian finally managed to make his vocal chords work again, as he attempted to get his breathing back under control. He slid a hand over toward Mickey’s and hooked their pinkies together.

“I’m. . . alive. . . I _think_ ,” he bit out.

Ian chuckled. “Well. . . that’s good.”

They lied in silence for a while, in contact solely at that one point where their fingers curled into one another.

“So. . .” Ian finally spoke again. “Soulmate sex was pretty slammin’.”

Mickey guffawed at the unexpected statement, his face heating up again as his mind ran through the last hour over and over again. Ian wrapped his whole hand around Mickey’s then, raising it to his lips so he could press a kiss to the back of it.

“Can’t complain,” replied Mickey.

“ _Can’t complain_?” Ian asked indignantly, rolling onto his side to meet his gaze. “What, you’ve had _better_?”

Mickey shrugged nonchalantly and tried to hold in a smile as he looked everywhere around the room but Ian, but was promptly tackled and tickled by a faux angry redhead, and he couldn’t stop laughing as they rough-housed until Ian had him pinned.

“Say it was the best!” prodded Ian. “Say it!”

“It was okay,” maintained Mickey.

Ian tutted. “You want me to deny you a second round later, or you wanna be honest?” He pinched the skin of Mickey’s side roughly.

“Ow! Fucker!”

“Say it was the best you ever had, and I’ll let you go. . . _and_ I’ll give it to you good and hard in the middle of the night.”

Dammit. Mickey was too tired to resist for too long.

Rolling his eyes, and huffing dramatically, he unenthusiastically murmured, “It was the best.”

Ian poked him harshly in the side again. “Like you mean it!”

“It was the fucking BEST, alright! Now get the fuck off me, bigfoot, ‘fore I lose my cool.”

Ian chortled, and released him, rolling away and climbing out of the bed as he smiled proudly down at Mickey’s prone form. “Aw, thank you, Mick! It was the best I ever had too.”

He picked Mickey’s foot off the bed and gnawed on his big toe for a second, before dropping it and exiting the room.

Mickey sighed contentedly, and wondered for the umpteenth time how he could’ve gotten so lucky.

It was like the universe was repaying him for all the shit he’d had heaped on him since he was a boy. He wanted to trust it, and believe in it; try to see it in his mind’s eye, how this would all play out. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know how. What he felt more than anything, beneath all the positivity scratching against the surface, was a vast chasm of fear.

None of this was under his control. None of it. It almost felt no different than the lack of freedom he’d had in prison, it was just that his jail cell was no longer a physical thing.

“You coming?” Ian called out from the bathroom, where Mickey could hear the bathtub faucet running.

“Be right there,” he called back, tamping down those dark musings as best he could.

  


  


*

**Author's Note:**

> I'll have the next chapter out as soon as I can. Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Tumblr Home](http://thevioletjones.tumblr.com/)
> 
> UPDATE - 06/25/18 - Temporarily on hold, but not abandoned! \- I'm really sorry about how long it's been since I updated this. It was never my intention to take this long finishing it. I'm currently working on it, and it's just kind of a mess. I have it all outlined, though, so hopefully I can kind of write it in chunks, then fill in the blanks. I'll have it ready as soon as I can. Thanks for your patience if you ever check up on this!


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